


Ballad of the Nightingale

by HelmofHades



Series: Perrin Alad AU [3]
Category: Warframe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artificial Intelligence, Businessmen, Cephalons more like THATS A HUMAN PERSON!!, Comrade Derf says no to Capitalism., Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Manipulation, Except not really., Family Issues, Found Family, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Political Alliances, Rebellion, Secret Relationship, Strangulation, Teenage Rebellion, Undercover Rebel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2021-03-27
Packaged: 2021-04-21 13:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22076734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelmofHades/pseuds/HelmofHades
Summary: Under the watchful eye of his uncle, Derf has been bred and raised as the future heir of Anyo Enterprises. Yet after the tragedy of Deck 12 had left him with feelings of rebellion and doubt, he finds himself in the middle of playing both the dutiful nephew and secret underground agent. Enter the Nightingale, songbird of Fortuna here to free the masses from crushing debt. Bonded with well known rebel and thief Darvo Bek, the two and their teammates work in tandem to rob the rich and bless the poor. A fruitful tactic that lasts for ages, until Derf's more public lover discovers his rebellious secret. Torn between keeping his secret and doing what is right, young Anyo finds himself at an impasse. Shall the Nightingale sing again, or remain caged?
Relationships: Darvo Bek/Baro Ki'Teer, Darvo Bek/Clem, Darvo Bek/Derf Anyo, Derf Anyo/Original Male Character (one sided)
Series: Perrin Alad AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1383049
Comments: 35
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> heavily based around my Perrin Alad AU. darvo's the head of that poly amorous relationship threatening to take over Seattle and derf is a red blooded communist corpus hellbent on destroying his uncle's capitalist legacy. enjoy your stay.

“We’re taking fire down here, Nightingale! Door’s still closed!”

Derf scoffs, headset firmly fitted around his scalp. His bangs had been pulled back against the head band, and he hits the press to talk key. “Yeah, hang the fuck on! I’m working on it!” His fingers are on the keys, racing down lines of text and data. The crew had struck again, this time on Venus, and the man had found himself caught in the middle of caring for them. Darvo and Clem running a war path up and down Corpus halls. Baro slipping in and out of hallways to retrieve whatever information and riches he could. He narrows on the map of the hallways, pinpointing the pair’s location. The door was locked behind them, pinning them between it and a squad of pissed off crewmen.  


Scoffing, Derf merely threw on a quick bypass, furrowing his brows when that failed to work. No, he must do more. Plugging into the doors technological interface, he plugs in the stolen credentials of a crewman manager. An admin of security, in a way. The door opens, and he watches the pinging dot of the pair slip past its threshold. “Thanks! We’re clear!” Derf rolls his neck over his shoulders, flexing his wrists and arms as several soft snaps and pops sound.

“Yeah, don’t mention it, sweetheart.”

Back to Baro, he slides the map further along the X axis of the factory. Slipping his way through the Moa manufacturing. Press to talk key. “Dune, you alright down there?” He watches the ping pause, and he fails to get an answer. The Martian is still for a few seconds before bolting down the incoming hallway, diving off the recorded map and into presumably a vent.  


“Sorry ‘bout that. Uh…” Another pause. “No, I think I’m good. I’ve gotta keep-” His tone cuts off and he falls silent. When Baro speaks again, it is in a whisper. “I’ve gotta keep quiet. There’s guys down here. Can’t hear well through the helmets but they’ve got some kinda scanner built into them. Gotta keep out of sight.” Another flick to the violent pair.

“Got it. Good luck.”

Another flurry of hands on the keyboard. “Hey darling.” Darvo replies with a breathy response, gunshots echoing in his feed. “I’m gonna send you some friends.” The pair had backed their way into one of the storage chambers. Vast and often awe inspiring, Derf had been jaw dropped when he first laid his eyes on it. Walls upon walls of Moa. Eximi and regular models. Implanting himself into the room’s interface, the Corpus gives an eerie smirk as he plugs the same credentials into the system.  


“Friends? What d- HOLY SHIT-” Anyo lets out a peal of laughter. A cackle as Clem’s grineer cursing follows the cry. “DERF WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?” The clanging of metal in their feeds only doubles him over the keyboard. 

“I told you I’d bring friends!”

“BY THE FUCKING VOID, WHY ARE THERE SO MANY?”

He had… almost wished he could’ve been there to witness. He had seen it before during a deployment of the merchandise. Machinery dropping from countless racks lining the walls. Like a cascading waterfall of metal and power. Slamming to the floor with the malice of an Ambulas. But then… docile. As caring and curious as a young kubrow. To hear the reaction of someone both under stress and unexpecting is… priceless.

And then HE heard alarms.

Not the usual ones. Not the general “we’re under attack” alarms. Derf perks up, the joy from his face fading as he whips around. The hallway just beyond the door of his office is lit. Panic floods ice into his veins and he turns back to his computer. The map is ushered away, and he reaches for his radio set up to switch channels. His fingers are fumbling, hands shaking with utter terror as he flips to the general crewman station and the overhead communications. He leans back in his seat, gulping down a lump in his throat. Anyo can hear the footsteps now, and his jaw clenched. The Nightingale flutters his eyes closed… and the man changes.  


The Nightingale is gone when he opens them. Only the facade Nef had beaten into him. Derf leans forwards, pressing his finger into the overhead station’s call button with a fierce intention. “I don’t know what you penniless FUCKS think you’re doing down there, but you’d better get it TOGETHER.” The door hisses open behind him. “You wanna keep your jobs? Keep your wages? FIND THOSE DAMN THIEVES.” He hesitates before releasing his finger, heart pounding in his chest.

“A nice display… Your uncle would be proud, Derf.”

He pretends to be calm, but it is a far cry from the truth. “Mmm… Thank you, Kypyet.” He sighs, leaning his head back on the chair’s rest. “Good to see SOMEONE thinks my efforts weren't in vain.” He flutters his eyes closed again, grinding his teeth out of anxiety. The other Corpus merely takes it as a product of stress, and approaches. Derf can feel the gloved hands of the man slide down the sides of his face. Calm, like the touch of a lover. Anyo cracks a smile. “Shouldn’t be fraternizing on the job, darling.”  


The kiss pressed against him is smiling, and he breathes a soft half laugh into the other man. “Yeah, like that’s going to stop me.” The other’s mutter sends chills down his spine, and his stress begins to melt at the caring connection. Perhaps… his bluff was working… Kypyet leans back to regard the screen, quirking a brow at the newly displayed map. Corpus units ping all over the hallways, scattering and gathering in tactical points. “Although, you don’t have to do my job FOR me, Derf…”  


Anyo scoffs, leaning forwards and tuning into the private crewman channel. Corpus panic spills from his headphones, and he pushes off one ear cup to listen to the one behind him. “Someone’s gotta do it while you’re out fighting thieves.” He motions to a nearby chair. “Sit down. Might as well get comfortable.” But the other gently shakes his head. He stands there, watching with a growingly concerning look. “Suit yourself.” Derf mutters under his breath, holding the other headphone cup to his ear as he advises the crewman on the floor.  


And he scowls. “Looks like they found a way to turn the storehouse against them.” Derf pinches the bridge of his nose, feigning frustration. “This… really isn’t our day, is it?” Kypyet lets out a neutral noise. “First a break in, then they send their fuckin thief in the factory, and now they’re stealing the merchandise.” He throws his hands up. “Great.” The Corpus behind him sighs and sets his hands on Anyo’s shoulders, gently massaging the stress out of him.  


“Yeah… I’ve… gotta ask.” Derf leans his head back, letting out a questioning noise as he closes his eyes. The last he sees is Kypyet staring at the screen, expression almost lost. The hands snake up his collarbone, almost teasing. And then to his neck…

“Why did you use my bypass?”

His blood runs cold. Anyo flicks his eyes open again, and Kypyet is staring down at him. No. His bluff didn’t work. He finds himself sputtering for words, unable to truly put together a sentence. The Corpus above him narrows his gaze and frowns. “I figured they couldn’t have gotten past all that security on their own…”  
And Derf pulls away, leaping from his seat and whipping around. Yet he has nowhere to go… Nowhere to run. He is pinned against the computer and his desk as he tries to back away. His headset hangs haphazardly around his neck as the Corpus pulls the chair out of his way. His expression is stone cold as he approaches the shivering one. And Derf is paralyzed as he raises his hands again. Takes him by the neck again. Tugs him from the desk and pulls him face to face. “Why… Why help them… Why are you sabotaging your uncle’s work… My work…”  


Anyo still remains silent, baffled at the thought of not being able to fool another Corpus. He is shuddering and sputtering basic excuses. Nothing of note as evident by the other’s further furrowing brow. Derf’s hand hits the radio panel on accident, desperation making him reach about his desk for anything he could use to escape. And Darvo’s voice bleeds through the headset… “Sweetheart, why didn’t you do this EARLIER?” Clem’s grineer curses. Baro’s grumbling for them to shut the fuck up while he crept around. Kypyet’s expression falls. The definition of a broken heart. Even Derf was on the verge of terrified tears…  


“Son of a BITCH, DERF!” Before he knows it, Anyo is being tossed to the side. He gives a yelp, tumbling to the floor. He smacks his head on the metallic panels, groaned and cradling the side of his scalp. His headset having flow from his shoulders, it hung from the side of the desk, swaying gently as opposed to the violent storm that approached. Derf is flipped over, lifted with hands far denser and stronger than his own. He is slammed face first into the wall, another cry sounding from him as he’s pinned. One hand on his left wrist and the other on the back of his neck, he can feel Kypyet breathing down his shoulder. “I trusted you… I TRUSTED YOU, DAMNIT!” The crewman manager pulls his head back and slams it again. He can smell spoons again… A warm fluid gushed down the lower portion of his face and he coughs against it. 

“I CAN’T BELIEVE I _LOVED YOU!_”

Again, he is flipped around. Back to the wall, Kypyet’s hands are around his neck. Yet it is not a caring touch to relieve stress. It is tight. It is painful. Derf finds himself clawing at the man’s gloves in desperation. “Let me ask you something!” The crewman is… erratic, at most. Distraught at the least. He leans in face to face with the Corpus, almost touching nose to nose. Those bright icy blue eyes boring holes into his. “Did you ever love me back? DID YOU?!” The cry produces a shake from the man, hitting Derf’s head again on the wall. He lets up on his choking just slightly enough for Derf to speak.  


And instead, he spits his nose bleed into the man’s face, scowling. The crewman slowly bares his teeth in rage. “All of y-you… loyalist _fucks_…” Derf coughs a bit, the pressure returning.

“Can burn in hell.”

Another scream of rage. Kypyet tosses him again. Derf practically bounces on the ground as he lands, attempting to scramble to his feet and reaching for his cupboard. His weapons stash… Yet his false lover is on him just as quick, easily overcoming the leaner, weaker Corpus. First a chokehold to pull him back. Derf’s heel in his knee and he let’s go. Another bolt to the cupboard before Kypyet catches his arm with a gloved hand. Blood splattered scowls of rage burn a horror into him that freezes Anyo briefly in his tracks. A death sentence.  


Soon they’re both on the floor, Kypyet above as he straddles the man. Hands on his neck, he adds the weight of his entire upper body into the attack. “Then I’ll see you there, you lying BITCH!” Derf is lying prone, gasping for air. Clawing desperately at the gloves of a former lover. In a way he never thought he would.  


Yet he… remains clever. Remains smart in the throes in emotion and betrayal. With the crewman atop him in tears of anger and heartbreak, he secretly draws in a sharp gasp… and holds it. And he fights against him, one hand going for the face as he scratches the side of Kypyet’s cheek. The man closes his eye and turns his face away a bit, avoiding most of the intended damage. And as he holds his breath, he coughs and sputters. Squeeks in the later stages of his false strangulation. Beats a fist against the Corpus’s arm, the man’s grasp never faltering. 

And he finally falls still.

He lets his arm finally fall, hitting the ground with a soft thump. Still eyes and bloody face staring up at the ceiling. Kypyet almost immediately releases him. A stupid move, really. A trained killer would know to keep applying the pressure until the kill is confirmed. But just as he assumed, The Corpus is emotionally compromised. The crewman leans back a bit, hand clapping over his face as he begins weeping. Leaning forwards over Derf’s form and even… clutching him. “I… loved you…” He whimpers out between sniffles, failing to acknowledge the brief lowering and raising of Anyo’s chest. “I thought I could get us both away from this!” And he is up above him again, arms bracing him above the feigning man. “I h-had-! I had stocks I could’ve sold! Money I was pooling to get us out, I-!”  


And Kypyet scowls again. Even though his stare is unfalteringly fixed on the ceiling, he can see the snarl from the corner of his vision. “But you had to work with those FUCKING GRINEER, didn’t you?” He grabs the collar of Derf’s uniform and shakes his limp form, before dropping him to the floor. The scowl falls, and he moves to stand. Kypyet steps over him, pulling the chair closer as he defeatedly falls into it. Derf considered pulling himself up and sneaking off before he was noticed. Grabbing what he could of his weapon’s stash and leaving for the other to gain the blame. 

“Can’t believe I wanted to sell what I invested in Fortuna for you…”

And then Kypyet opened his stupid mouth…

Anyo find’s his chest tightening. His once fixed stare slides to the side, watching the Corpus weep in his seat. His hands cover his face, his own sobs honestly making enough noise to mask a potential escape. But it had to be quick…

No. He would not let this continue.

Before Derf realized it, he was halfway across the floor, form slinking like a cat. Blood cakes the lower portion of his face, and he feels the sting of bruises forming on his neck and the abused portions of his skull. It is the creak of the cupboard that gives him away, but by the time Kypyet comes to, Derf is already nearly looming over him. Standing like a horseman of death, his Secura Lecta releases itself from its sheath.  


Kypyet lets out a startled scream of agony as the magnetic pulse hits him. He leaps from the chair on instinct, but falls to the floor when he finds his legs turned to jello. He scrambles against the edge of Derf’s desk, trying to pull himself to his unresponsive feet. “I loved you once…” Anyo grabs the other end of his Lecta, ignoring the sharp pain shooting up his arm. “Once…”  


He approaches the Corpus with a shaded glare, tossing the rope of his whip over the front of the man from behind him. He wraps one end around him, string draping over his shoulders like a neon line of death. The other doesn’t even bother speaking to him. Only biting his lip and sniffling. Slowly, Derf pulls the cord taut. Snug against the man’s neck. “Maybe I will meet you in hell… But not for a while, sweetheart.” And he pulls.  


The spine chilling gag that follows makes him shudder. As the Corpus pulls back to try to escape, Derf plants a foot firmly between his shoulder blades, pinning him into the edge of the desk. The magnetic pain hisses sharply against the two of them, but it fries the skin on Kypyet’s neck. He scrambles on the surface before him, one hand trying to loosen the cord. Derf doesn’t even bother to look. Only blankly stares at the corkboard on his wall. Notes for future missions. Details for work tomorrow. He furrows his brow at the pointlessness of it. Spacing out, he finds the crewman slumped below him, thoroughly silent. No longer fighting and sufficiently limp, Derf gives one last tug of the cord just to make sure. An important step his former lover forgot.  


And he lets him go. Lets him hit the ground with that same thump he ushered. For a moment, Derf stands there. Silent and consumed in hatred. Staring down the corkboard like it was his own uncle. Slowly, he pulls up the chair again, kicking aside the corpse as he sits down and wheels himself to the terminal. He flicks up the first map again, watching Baro deep in the guts of the factory. And gently he scoops up his headset, slipping it back on. His hoarse voice is something even he doesn’t recognize for a moment.

“Get the fuck out of there.”

“What? Aw darling, we were just having fu-!”

But Derf’s tone is sour. Bitter and malicious. Even Baro would shudder at the venom. “_I said get the fuck out of there, Darv. **Now.**_” The line goes quiet for a minute, and Derf leans forwards. He sets his elbow on the desk, resting his head in it as his entire body aches. 

“Alright… Okay. We’re gonna go get you then, Dune. Be right there.”

Darvo’s tone is serious, finally dropping the act. Derf watches him and Clem’s pings move towards the front of the factory, Baro’s following. He sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Thanks... “ he leans forwards and switches back to the crewman channel, smirking in their utter panic. His coaching clearly didn’t help at all. His gaze shifts, looking over the fallen form now half under his desk. Brows furrowing, he slowly grins as he brings an idea to fruition. “Oh darling, Kypyet… Perhaps you can still be of use to me.” Derf crosses his legs, leaning his chin into a hand as he regards the corpse. “After all… I’m sure uncle would be ecstatic to find out I took out the crewman betraying him...“


	2. Chapter 2

“Derf!” He is still as he sits, still boring holes with his gaze into the screen of his computer. The doors hiss open behind him and he fails to flinch. “Derf, are you-! Al… right…” The voice trails to a stop, concern dripping from its tone. He knows the shuffle of those feet. The erratic voice. 

“I am alive, uncle. That counts for something…” 

Nef gulps down the lump now forming in his throat, wringing his hands. He glances back at his bodyguards briefly. “Leave us.” The soft command is respected as they salute and shuffle from the room. They post themselves outside the door, threshold hissing shut behind them. “What… What the hell happened…” Nef’s voice is dumbfounded. Startled. Derf can nearly feel the look focused on the back of his own head. 

“What does it look like? We had a break in.” The boy’s grip tightens on the armrests of his chair. “I dealt with it.” He hears his uncle scoff behind him, almost feeling the man fold his arms and cock his hip to the side.

“I mean the BODY, Derf!”

So he turns. The chair squeaks under him, and his shaded eyes fall on his darling uncle. The man that now went from a frustrated look to a gaze of pure terror. “By the VOID!” His cry is echoed by frantic shuffling as he rushes to him, the bodyguards disregarding their orders for the moment to peak into the room. 

“Everything alright, sir?”

Their tone is deadpan, but his uncle is ignoring them for the moment. Nef slides to his knees, shoulder level with the sitting Derf as he takes the man’s shoulders. “What HAPPENED? Why didn’t you call me!” He runs a thumb over his nephew’s bruised cheek, breath hitching in his throat at the sight of a freshly black eye and crusting nosebleed. “Who DID THIS?!” His voice is a hiss now. A scowl of rage.

Derf glances briefly at the form laying half under his desk before looking back to his uncle. “It doesn’t matter.” Nef scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You appointed me the acting manager of the factory, and I dealt with the issue as best I could. Actions had to be… taken.” Nef tugs at the edges of his collar, spying the purple marks peeking out. Upon seeing the vast hand shape bruises enveloping the entirety of Derf’s neck, he draws in another sharp gasp. “Is there a problem?”

Nef’s face is almost red with rage. “A PROBLEM?!” He shoots to his feet, overcome with anger and worry. The man steps back for a moment to pace, Derf already watching the cogs turning. “When I appointed you acting manager, I did it so you could HELP ME with this area! Not for you to almost get KILLED, DERF!” He sweeps an arm towards the corpse. “Did he do this?! Was it him?!” Derf’s guilty silence makes Nef clench his fists and jaw. 

“I discovered he was… working with the intruders.”

“And?”

Derf looks up at his uncle, quirking a brow. “And I dispatched him.” At Nef’s scoff, he shrugs. “He approached me about it. Thought he could trust me, I guess.” The boy tightens his grip again, gaze falling to the floor. “Wanted to… convince me to help him. And when I refused, he attacked me.” It was out of the corner of his eye, but he swore he spied his uncle deliver a swift kick of revenge to Kypyet’s cold side.

“Piyjuypitj!”

It is then that Nef finally regards his human shadows. He whips around, still scowling. “You!” He jabs a finger at the one on the right. “Get rid of this… thing!” A half assed motion to the body, he moves more towards Derf. The guard nods and right away moves in to take the cold Corpus by the ankles, slowly dragging him from sight. “Derf, you need a medic… Come on.” Yet the younger one shakes his head.

“I’m… fine.”

“Have you SEEN your fucking NECK!? You _need_ a medic. Get up.” Nef huffs before turning and strutting from the room. “And YOU!” Another jab to the remaining guard. “Make sure that stubborn ASS follows!” Sure enough, the man nods, nearing Derf as his uncle rushes down the hall. The usually silent Corpus sets a calm hand on Derf’s arm, but the other jerks his limb away.

“I can get up by myself.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” The muffled mutter under the man’s mask almost makes him chuckle. All he can muster is a pained smirk and a scoff as he pushes himself up. His legs wobble as he takes a few steps, the bodyguard nearly glued to his side. Quickly, the man offers a held out arm, and Derf takes it to steady himself. “Come on. Don’t wanna keep the big peacock waiting.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He wished the hallway was quiet. However, the aftermath of the attack left crewman scattered to and fro. As Nef proceeds, a few stop to stand straight and salute, yet his uncle is quick to bark at them to return to their posts and fix his factory instead of standing on pointless ceremony. The only time Nef hated being bowed to is when it is at the cost of his profit. 

“I said MOVE IT!”

The shout startles Derf from his near stupor, spacing out during the walk. The guards are at his sides, him still clinging to one for support. The scolded crewmen quickly salute and stutter out a “Y-YES SIR” before scrambling off. He can see his uncle’s face red with rage, fists curled tight with anger. And yet, Derf is… oddly numb. He glances down at his free hand, counting the bruises from the arcs of power he released through his Lecta earlier. Proof that what he did really did happen.

Before he knows it, he is being pushed into a seat. A slightly lowered examination table at the local medic’s office. Nef is pacing the room before him as the doctor gathers their supplies. “Derf why didn’t you CONTACT me?!” The medic’s side glare at his uncle fails to calm him down. When Nef whips around to look at him, Derf is surprised to feel nothing. Normally, he would be internally hysterical. Terrified at the look in the man’s eyes, half torn between fury and worry.

“Why would I? This was my responsibility.”

Nef lets out the cross between a groan and a shout, burying his face in his hands as he paces again. “At the cost of your SAFETY?!” His voice piques and Derf flinches. The look on Nef’s face falls. Across the room, the medic is raising the examination table, bringing Derf up a few feet to get a good look at him. “Derf… Darling… Be honest with me.” He rarely heard his uncle so vulnerable. So pain stricken. _So caring._ “What happened? What did he… do to you?”

“I-”

He doesn’t see it coming, but his eyes well with tears. There is a crack worming its way through his heart, and a hand shoots up to grip his chest. The medic dives out of the way as Nef rushes to him, arms around him before he can release his first sob. “It’s okay.” Anyo’s mutter meets his ears, and Derf’s hysterics finally bubble forth. Any comfort was accepted, even from the likes of his uncle. He buries his face in the crook of Nef’s robed shoulder, form curling in on itself.

“H-He gave me no choice!” Nails digging into his uncle’s clothing, he… wasn’t lying. He could feel Nef stiffen a bit. “I-... I tried to tell him not to, but he-!” Derf pulls back, hand cupping the side of his face. His eyes are wide, hysterical and glancing about. Yes, he was truly grieving, but… sometimes putting on a show did more good than harm. “What ELSE was I supposed to do?! I th-thought I knew him!” He curled in on himself, and Nef pulls back to let him do so. “Thought I-!”

Another hitch in his breath. His legs pull up onto the table, and he’s burying his face in between his knees now. He hears his uncle sigh. “Yes, I figured you two were… more than close.” He is rubbing circles into the boy’s back. “It is… not your fault. You did not make a poor choice of judgement, Derf. _He_ made a poor choice of action.” Pinning it on the lower ranked. Typical. 

A gentle hand is patting his shoulder now. “Come on. You still need treatment, starling.” Derf feels himself relax at the term, and his legs slip off the exam table. The doctor approaches once more, this time Nef steps back to let them in. Their gloved touch lifts Derf’s chin, tugging down his high collar to look over the bruises.

“Yeah, I’d say his intent was to kill, alright…” 

The clutch on his shoulder tightens a bit. Nef’s jaw clenches and he gives a soft sigh. “I know.” Derf’s voice is hoarse, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t think… he broke anything, though. Tossed me around pretty hard, but nothing cracked.” The gloved touch begins to spread a cooling salve on his skin, the tingling sensation quickly easing the underlying pain. 

“Good. I still would like to take a couple scans to make sure you didn’t get any hairline fractures, though.” Derf makes a soft noise of confirmation, chin gently pulled back down. The scent of alcohol hits him and a damp sheet of cloth begins wiping off the caked blood from his face. He crinkles his nose, and holds in a breath during the procedure. “Definitely a broken nose, though. You’re looking a bit crooked.” The youngest Corpus scoffs.

“Oh no. Not my good looks.”

Nef sighs once more, rolling his eyes. The doctor merely smirks and softly chuckles. “It’ll get better. Won’t be permanent unless you want it to be.” And for a moment, Derf’s thoughts are strangely entertained. A chance to be the imperfect Corpus of his aspirations. He glances at his huffy uncle and smirks. “Yeah, no. Don’t even think about it. I let you keep that and I’m getting fired.” The fact that the Corpus had the mere BALLS to speak such a line in front of Nef draws a grin from his nephew. 

For a moment, the gloved hand traces the new curve of Derf’s nose. “Alright… I’ve gotta get you into the scan room. Sir… Anyo, do you mind?” Nef slowly releases his grip from his nephew, albeit reluctantly. Taking the doctor’s hand, Derf eases himself to his feet. “Just a few. I promise it’ll be quick.” And out towards the door of their examination room. “You’ll have him back in no time, Sir Anyo!” He glances back to see his uncle in a huff, arms folded. The one time the man is told what to do and has no choice but to obey…

It leaves a smile on his face.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A hiss of a door sounds in his wake. Derf trudges into his quarters and promptly plops himself onto the nearby couch. A plush, and honestly, decorational nightmare. His neck was put into a small brace for the time being. Not because of fractures, but to reduce the amount of potential head trauma from whipping it around too fast. Well… the doctor had been right about a couple of things. 

His crooked nose had been forced back into place, purple bruises already popping up around the area. It stung to even touch, and thus he was unable to practice his usual routine of pinching the bridge of it. His black eye still remained, albeit slightly stitched to seal the deep cuts left from his impact to the wall. But his skull… did indeed have a small fracture. The back of it, in particular. Slammed over and over. First the wall, then the hard metallic floor. He couldn’t imagine what kind of bruising would begin to bud back there. For now, he leans back and relishes in the wake of his pain medication. 

“Computer.”

A soft technological chime sounds. The lights on his display screen power on. “Call… the Deserter.” Another codename. He smiles as the chime sounds again. A soft repeating beep signals a dialing tone, and a different chime to signify the call had been received. It is the one and only defecting Bek. Darvo has his face off screen for a moment, rummaging through a few reclaimed containers, but he sticks a hand in frame to wave.

“Hey, sweetheart!”

Derf immediately grins, confident his room’s soundproofing wouldn’t alert any guards outside. A peel of giggles releases from him. “Mmm… Hi.” His voice is painfully hoarse. Deeper than usual. “You wouldn’t BELIEVE the shit I just got prescribed.” Another giggle. 

Darvo’s face finally enters the screen with a wide, toothy grin. Fucked up teeth and all, he still loves him. But just like that, the expression falls. “Holy FUCK, what the hell HAPPENED TO YOU?” He is somewhat taken aback, leaning from the display a bit. However, he quickly nears again, taking whatever Derf is displayed upon and carrying it with him. “You look like you just fought a fuckin rabid kubrow! Did… Did you win?”

Another peel of giggles. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t win, dumbass!” Darvo continues his smirk, but his… expression is worrying. “It’s… It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Derf waves off the concern, shifting himself on the couch of his quarters. “I lived. That’s all you need, right?”

“I mean…”

Another series of waving. “Nonono. _Don’tworryaboutit._” He runs a hand through his hair, flinching as he hits the abused portions of his skull. “Just, uh… nearly got caught red handed, is all. Old friend of mine came in before I told y'all to leave. No, uh. No big deal.” Yet Bek’s look of worry makes him scoff. “Okay, so he nearly killed me. Get over it.”

“Nearly WHAT?!”

And this is what he wasn’t looking forward too. Derf shades his face with a hand, embarrassment flushing his intoxicated cheeks. “N-No. Stop it. I’m fine.”

“Like HELL you’re fine! You-!” A distant flurry of words sound in the background, and Darvo looks up from the display. Grineer. “Huh? Are you kidding? Says some fuck nearly KILLED him! You’re gonna tell me to calm down?!” Clem’s gloved hand enters the frame and rustles the Corpus’s hair, gently slapping his shoulder. Another mutter of Grineer and Bek scowls. “Oh, bite me.” He glances back at his display, setting it on a table as he sits. Another far off flurry of words. Derf doesn’t quite catch it, but by the look of Darvo’s sudden flush, he doesn’t have to. “I-! SHUT UP.” The Corpus jabs a finger off screen, scowling before running a hand over his hair and averting his gaze. “Gimmie the details, Nightingale. Who do I need to beat the shit out of.”

“No one. He’s fucking dead.”

“Oh.” Darvo’s face grows deadpanned, lips pursing out of awkwardness. “Well… Good. Saves me the trouble, I guess.” He looks away, rubbing at the back of his heavily tattooed neck. The small tick makes Derf smile. “Lecta, I assume?” The couch ridden man nods. “Like you usually do?” Another. Darvo smiles wide. “No gloves this time?” Derf frowns, but it produces a laugh from his lover. “Yeah, I don’t need an answer when you’ve got hands like that!” The bruises on his hand and wrist are almost akin to lightning bolts. Strikes of power running under his skin. Derf holds up his hand to observe them. “Told you that shit would hu-!”

“I didn’t exactly have a choice, Darv.”

The man’s face falls, and his brow furrows. “How sudden? Like RIGHT before?” He adjusts himself in his seat, glancing back as Baro passes him and into the frame. Back into the reclaimed crates, rummaging for something. The dark suit hugs him well.

“When I came over the radio that last time, I had just crawled back into my fucking chair… THAT’S how sudden.” Bek’s sigh follows Derf fluttering his eyes closed, medication still soothing him. “It’s… not like the movies, Darv. Not like the cinematic…” He motions his hands in a flailing manner, like a panicked victim. His arms drop to the couch and he lifts a hand to hold his forehead in. “I dunno… He found out I was using his credentials to help you guys. Came and confronted me. I panicked and froze. He-...” Derf motions to the black eye and neck brace. “Doctor said he threw me so damn hard it fractured my fuckin’ skull a bit. Broke my nose to boot.” At the Corpus tensing, Derf smiled. “Yeah, and he fixed it. You’re the sole owner of the fucked up nose award still.”

Darvo absentmindedly runs a finger down the curve of his nose, a nearly century old injury never fully healed. And he liked it that way. “Yeah. It’s never that wonderfully dramatic, huh…” Referring to… well. “Can’t say I very much enjoyed my first either.” He leans back in his seat, folding his arms. Clem passes the frame again, hand on his shoulder and leaning down to set a kiss on his cheek. He smiles and watches the Grineer continue back towards Baro. “Think the fucker gargled on his own blood rather than died of the shot.” He shrugs. “Not like I really care, though. Guy was a bastard through and through.” Both were… quiet for a spell. “Did he deserve it..?”

Derf’s gaze falls. He stares at his hands in his lap, one decorated with arcs of power and betrayal. “I… I think so.” Darvo arcs a tattooed brow. “He was a crewman manager. Not really the highest of ranks, but he was pretty well up there. Still, uh… kind of a bootlicker, I guess.” Anyo’s brows furrow and his fists slowly clench. “We kinda… hit it off when I first came here. Turns out he had the… um…”

Bek leans in, frown creasing his face. “And you strung him along?” Derf feels his form grow icy and he quickly curls in on himself. Darvo sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose at the man’s reaction. “I’m not… mad at you, hon. You didn’t mean anything with it?” A shake of his head makes Darvo nod. “Okay… Then yeah, you’re still alright in my book.”

“But he thought-!”

“Doesn’t matter what he thought.” Bek leans into the hand he perches on the table.

Derf’s eyes threaten to well again, but he bites the inside of his bottom lip. “He thought I loved him, Darv… He was heartbroken.” Again, his gaze falls. “I… broke him.”

“No no no!” Darvo cuts him off with a sigh, leaning back and folding his arms again. “Oh no, shut up. Stop that. You didn’t do SHIT but take advantage of the situation.” He rolls his eyes at the other’s whine. “I KNOW you’re not the type to do that sincerely. He assumed. He let it blind him.” A pause. “I know you when you love. And when you do it, it fuckin’ burns, sweetheart. I know how you love, and I know how you take.” He shrugs. “And yeah, you took from him. You didn’t love him. But if I know you, _he deserved it._”

“He had stock in Fortuna.”

“_YUP!_”

Darvo threw his hands up in the air, leaning fully back into his chair. It nearly topples, to Derf’s excitement. “He… was thinking of selling it and whisking me off somewhere. I… don’t know.” He crosses his legs on the couch. “I just know I had the chance to get out quietly but… he said that and I snapped. He-!” Derf cracks an almost delirious grin and his eyes are welling again. “He was crying over me when he thought I was gone! I almost felt BAD for him, Darv!” 

“Because you have that empathy…”

“Darv, he had-!”

“Yeah. I know. I heard you.” Darvo smiles again as Clem passes the frame. This time, the man leans down and gives a wide grin to Derf, who waves back in response. “You’re the cruelest out of all of us… but you’ve got the softest heart, hon. And I think that’s why.” He shrugs. “You see the best in people, or… you try to. And when they break that trust, you give them what they deserve instead of making excuses.” He smirks. “Kind of attractive, I think.”

For a moment, the two are quiet. Derf buries his face into his hands, shoulders slightly shivering as he remains silent. After a bit, a loud sniff sounds.

“Derf…”

More silence.

“Derf, you know I love you, right.”

The floodgates open with a soft cry, and he pulls back his hands to wipe at his cheeks. Instead of the heartbreaking expression Darvo expected, Anyo is smiling wide. Staring up at the screen like the face of Profit itself revealed itself to him. Like the face of the very Universe that nurtured his existence welcomes him. And it tugs at his heartstrings. “You keep that empathy, yeah?” Derf nods, smile cracking into a grin as he chuckles. “You keep that shit and you hold onto it tight.” He gently pokes the screen, fumbling slightly as it brings up the call details as a HUD around the display. “You keep it and they won’t tear it out of you. Good ol’ shithead Nef won’t take it from you. Okay?” A beat of silence.

“Okay.”

Darvo smiles, resting his chin in a hand. “Alright… Me and the boys have a fucktruck of product to get through back here. Thank you for… checking in.” Behind him, Baro lifts an armful of Moa parts and shuffles them off screen. “Take care of yourself… and get better, okay?” Anyo nods. “Love you…”

The call cuts with a short beep, and Darvo’s image is now only held in the confines of his memory. Derf watches the empty screen for a few more moments before wiping his face down again. “Love you.” He mutters to himself, pausing before pushing himself up. He is halfway to the kitchen when he stops. “Computer?” The chime sounds again.

“Eradicate the records of that conversation from the archives.”

The chime sounds, and he disappears into the kitchen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i found out how the fuck to use the rich text way of posting chapters
> 
> oops

It was always awkward to hear a recording of one’s self, but to WATCH one’s self? Derf sits stiff and mildly upset at the conference table. Well, a small one at the very least. Honestly, anytime Nef set up a meeting with any kind of surface, said object could be referred to as a conference table. Still, his form is uncomfortably still, watching the projected video on the wall display. His uncle’s bodyguards stand on Derf’s sides, one for each arm, as he sits, just next to his uncle’s seat. 

Yet it is vacant, as its owner is pacing the area near the projection. At the other side of the table from Derf, a pair of crewman sit. The highest rank available for their caste. Assistant Crewman Management. To be an ACM to a crewman was one of the highest honors, and honestly the highest available to those with “dirty blood” as Nef so kindly put it. At those times, Derf wished he had the courage to remind his uncle the same “dirty blood” was in both their own veins.

Regardless, Derf watches the silent video feed of his office. He watches it start from him squawking to his subjects on the radio system, although his exact words were not played. A security measure for himself. His Cephalon was allowed to automatically clip and mute the security tapes from his frequented areas with Derf’s own authority. Secret authority, of course. Nef just thought the system itself was always busted, as other clips were often found doctored in such a manner. 

He watches Kypyet enter, and the ACMs across the table stiffen. The pair had removed their helmets. A man and woman, the latter heavily tattooed with her combat experience. The male, however, was marked with the proof of strategic management abilities. His track record of keeping an entire freighter of crewmen in line. Derf bites the inside of his lip. He had known them as his now late lover’s parents. 

The projection shows the crewman greeting him with that loving gesture. Hands massaging his shoulders with affection. A private way the two would share intimacy without the prying eyes of the public and the Corpus media. The latter of which had always managed to weasel its way into Derf’s doings. Kypyet speaks with him for a few moments, watching the computer display with growing concern. Derf hadn’t noticed it during the fact, but he think Kypyet knew all along. 

And he watched the man’s hands slide up his neck. It sends a shiver down his spine, and Derf looks away. Fingers toying with his collar, he watches the male ACM tense and scowl. He assumes the portion where Kypyet had pinned him was playing, as the woman flinches and draws in a gasp. He… honestly pitied them. They had nothing to do with this, but Nef was so hellbent on revenge that he was determined to find someone to blame for the scenario. Punish Kypyet’s next of kin? A plausible way to take out his frustrations. 

Derf looks back to find Kypyet slamming his head into the wall. He never felt himself flinch during the act, but he watches his form jolt and twitch at the man’s gestures. Had he always been so flighty and nervous? He watches the spray of blood shoot from his mouth, and the bloody scowl makes him smirk. His… prized moment during the ordeal. So many details he lost in the heat of the moment are displayed to him. Like how he bounces along the floor like a skipped stone when Kypset first throws him. The grimace and pure fury on the crewman’s face as he turns to grab him. For the first time since the incident, he… felt lucky to be alive. 

For the first time, he watches the unadulterated panic on his recorded face as he scrambles for his weapons stash. His scream of fear as he is pulled into a chokehold, flailing and kicking aimlessly at Kypet’s arms. Derf is… combat familiar, and somewhat trained of course. Yet, his previous lover had received far for formal teaching and experience in hand to hand motions as well as improvised fighting. Also, he was BUILT for it. Hulking and packed with muscle, he always managed to dwarf Derf by a good half a foot. It seemed it was by the grace of the Void itself that Derf was able to get him in the knee and slip out. 

Not like it lasted for long. He watches his feeble form be tackled, the camera adjusting to put them in center frame. An automatic precept to focus on detected movement. He looks away from the choking scene, having already experienced it himself, and spies his uncle watching furiously. The longer he focused his gaze, the tighter his fists would become. All until it seemed his eyes would pop from his head. He turns away when the projection broadcasts Derf’s false death throes. An arm flopping silently to the floor. Kypyet’s moments of mourning and residual fury. 

And then the moments he could barely recall. The slow rise and fall of his chest as he laid motionless. The hesitant raising of his form as he rolls over. The almost deadpan stare at Kypyet’s form as he heads to his weapon’s cache. Slinking like a cat on the hunt, he pulls himself to his feet. Kypyet had whipped around, face and eyes covered in tears as he watches in disbelief. And like the agent of death he had become, Derf raises his Lecta… and strikes him. 

Now he only remembered hitting him once, but it was all such a blur. He wasn’t exactly certain where it had landed. Yet now, he watches the first strike land across the man’s chest, the shock sending him flying back against the desk. Kypyet turns, arm outstretched and heading for the radio set up. Another strike on the back of his legs. He screams again and falls, scrambling on the edge of the countertop. A strike across his back and he grows still, barely hanging on. 

Derf’s projection approaches with little flair. Like a Masque of Red Death, arms and chest covered in his own blood. He watches himself, entranced, as he drapes the cord of the Lecta over Kypyet’s chest and wraps it around his neck. The camera adjusts again to keep Derf’s head in view, showcasing his blank stare at the corkboard. The room is silent as they watch the crewman struggle, eyes wide as he gasps for air. Derf’s foot plants firmly between his shoulder blades, still staring blankly. 

The Nightingale watches something in himself snap, as his recorded form stands there LONG after Kypyet stopped moving. The magnetic energy had crackled up his arm, and yet he failed to even acknowledge the pain in the moment. He… didn’t even remember feeling anything. 

At last, it stops. Derf finds himself staring at his now paused form far longer than was probably recommended for his own anxiety. What had… happened to him? Was Nef right to throw such a fit on account of the circumstances? “I gave him this opportunity…” His uncle braces his hands on the edge of the table, finally facing the quiet group. “Gave YOU this opportunity…” He draws in a gasp through his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. “**AND THIS IS WHAT YOU GIVE TO ME?” **The pinching hand slams down onto the table as a fist, Nef’s face red with fury. Derf jolts at the noise, curling in on himself a bit. The woman is the first to stand, scowling at her commander. 

“This is ridiculous! You think we had-!”

“YOUR SON ATTEMPTED TO **KILL MY NEPHEW!**”

The other ACM raises his hands, standing and putting himself between the two in an attempt to be a voice of reason. “Stop it! Stop… with the yelling. It is getting us nowhere.” His markings were thankfully true. “You… have a right to be upset, but she has a point!” Hands together, he makes an attempt to reason with Anyo. “You KNOW we had him raised in the most loyalist of fashions! He was committed to you through heart and SOUL, Sir Anyo!”

Nef throws out an arm towards the still paused video. “Care to explain, then?!” At the ACM’s sputtering, he scoffs. “That’s what I THOUGHT.” The Corpus turns, arm’s vocalising his frustration with wild gestures. “USELESS, the two of you. USELESS managers with even more USELESS **SONS**.” The woman grits her teeth and scowls, moving to intercept the conversation. 

“Nef…” Derf’s voice is soft and hoarse, forced so after his few days of recovery so far. “Uncle, please listen to them… She’s right.” He watches the man tense, but the elder makes no attempt to retaliate at his wounded nephew. “I knew them when I… frequented Kypyet’s company. They were nothing but loyal to you and your enterprise, and they taught him as such.” Derf then motions to the fuming mother. “I’m… sorry, I interrupted you.”

She gives a quick nod and mutter of thanks, folding her arms. “Sir Anyo, might I add that I am just as APPALLED as you are at this behavior.” Her tone is strong and commanding, a far cry from the soft lipped diplomat of her mate. A mate that she, as the highest of crewmen, was allowed to keep year after year until either grew tired of one another’s genetic products. “To think I would bring forth a traitor? If this were a common occurrence, I would sooner rip out my own inner manufacturing as to avoid such glaring mistakes.” Yet she shakes her head. “But it’s not. If that is your worry, I can assure you that this is an isolated event. A freak mutation that I would sooner nip in the bud should it even happen again.”

Behind her, her mate wrings his hands. Derf had known the father to do most of the talking. Many had found that his mate was often too… free speaking and harsh to deal with directly. Often afraid of her, usually correct, opinions. “W-Would… Would you rather appoint a manager from another pair of Assistants, Sir Anyo? Would that put you at ease?” Derf watches his uncle pinch the bridge of his nose, and prepares for the worst.

“What I _ want _ to do is bring justice to my wronged nephew!” 

The Nightingale sighs, shaking his head. “And how do you expect them to do that? I already removed the traitor they would have gladly killed as well, uncle. What else do you want from them?” He wasn’t stupid. He knew what his uncle wanted. Total and complete submission. Pleading and begging at his feet. Prayers to the Void to spare their lives. But Derf knew better. He knew the two were both too proud and too useful to his uncle to beg or die. 

Nef sighs and begins pacing once more. Derf shifts uncomfortably, already disgusted with his own manner of speech. Having to refer to the pair of ACMs he had actually gotten to know quite well as mere objects. Measures of usefulness to his uncle. “You… really want to let them off the hook like this, Derf?” His nephew perks up, realizing he’s being spoken to.

Anyo is watching the man from the other end of the table, bracing himself against his with both hands. “Off… the hook?” Derf furrows his brows. “Uncle, I… With all due respect, but have you been listening to me?” The richer Corpus furrows his brows, offended but too soft to scold his nephew at the moment. “I am telling you that they are not at fault for their son’s betrayal. That was a factor all of his own accord. You have PROOF that they raised him as a loyalist. That they raised him to SERVE you.” He motions to the pair, the man all but cowering behind his large statured mate. “From my point of view, he was merely a bad egg in an otherwise nest of pristine chicks. Why punish the mother condrac for the child that runs away?” For a moment, he swears he watches his uncle scowl a bit…

“By the Void, Derf…” Nef scoffs under his breath. “You sound more and more like me every day…” Derf was sure his uncle meant it as a compliment, but it digs into his heart as possibly the greatest insult he had ever received to date. The elder Corpus sighs and pushes himself off the table, pacing slowly before the paused projection. “Fine… You win.” He holds up his hands briefly in mock surrender. “As the wounded party here, I’ll accept your verdict, but I request one of my own. This was MY factory, after all, and since he was the mastermind behind this raid, I’d like to at least demand compensation for the damages!” 

Derf scowls a bit, rolling his eyes. All the money in the system, and Nef still found ways to extort his lackies. The woman, however, remains unfazed while her mate frowns. He glances between her and Nef, possibly worried if the pair were going to become bankrupt or not. Before Nef even opened his mouth, Derf cuts in. “Just… send them the bill later, please.” He sets a hand on his head, faking a migraine as he groans. “We can hash out the financial details at another time.” 

And his uncle ate it the fuck up. Nef practically dives to help his nephew, shuffling over in all his Keysuit glory to take the man’s hand in both of his own. Derf’s grip is carefully held between sickly yellow gloves, and he leans into his uncle’s massive jacket. “Okay, okay. You’re right.” He reassured him, his other hand stroking Derf’s hair. “We can deal with this later.” His soothing pets pull away long enough to shoo the two ACMs before returning. With both issuing quick bows and praises to his uncle and the Void, the two leave. 

Derf’s face is buried in his hands when his uncle speaks again. “I know… the doctor gave you the diagnosis already, but…” His nephew quick waves him off, and he sighs. “Yes, I figured you’d be like that.” Nef’s hands take his shoulders before drawing him into a small hug. Small only because his uncle found it impossible to fully wrap his arms around him in such get up without looking absolutely ridiculous. “If you’re in this much pain, you should get some rest… I’ll give you paid time off for the day.” Derf manages to give a soft groan in response.

“At least let me debrief my replacements…” He hears Nef scoff halfway through his words.

His uncle pulls back, hands folded as he shuffles around to the other side of the table, gathering left behind datapads and shuffling them like paper. “Fine. You have an hour to get things settled before I have to _ order you _ to go back to your quarters.” Derf smirks as he lowers his hands, watching his uncle set aside the datapads. “Sark! Take away this-” He waves a hand at the paused projection of his nephew. “-horror show. I want you to make sure he gets to his room later, alright?”

“Yes, Mister Anyo sir!”

Derf lets out a huff of a half assed laugh, pushing himself to his feet with a smirk on his lips. Getting his favorite Cephalon to babysit him? Clever. “Alright, I get it.” He motions to the bodyguard allowed to follow him to do so. “C’mon.” The other stays with his uncle, keeping watch over the man until their companion could return. It is once he’s outside the doorway that he releases the breath he forgot he was holding. “That was… one hell of a show, huh…”

“Indeed! I had to project it!”

The Corpus quirked a brow at Sark’s cheery tone, mouth taut in a slight frown. “Yeah..?” The halls are quiet as he walks, form stiff with the braces he’d been set into for his healing process. His frown deepens at the thought of the meeting. “I had to live it…”

* * *

A hiss of the threshold closes behind him. Derf shuffles out with a scowl and a huff, datapads clutched in his arms. Pulled against his chest, he glares ahead as he strides down the halls. He’d dismissed his uncle’s bodyguard long before he’d entered his area of work; the factory office’s. He rarely found himself in the more industrial portions of the building, seeing as it was “beneath him” as Nef would say. “Remind me to shuffle some shifts around once my  _ dear uncle _ sends me back to work, Sark.” 

“With pleasure, young Anyo sir!”

That painful optimism. Derf feels a chill run up his spine at the sound of it, and he huffs again. Picking up his pace, the Corpus makes his way to a set of elevators, stepping in and letting his guardian Cephalon whisk him away without any input. It opens to the residential area, a pair of displays flanking the doorway on his way out. Projections of current profits and productions. Anything the high class residing on the floor would need to know. Anything that would be sure to put Derf into a frothing rage…

He is halfway down the hallway when a chill hits him. Not a waft of cold air, but an eerie feeling in his gut. Derf pauses to glance about, clutching his datapads harder to his chest, before continuing. “Sark?” A chime sounds overhead. “Relay to my quarters. Get the teapot heating for me, but like… on a low se-”

The sound of scuffing shoes on metal sounds, and he jolts to a halt. Derf whips around, a hand raised and halfway through raking his hair. His eyes dart around, heart leaping up and into his throat. He lets silence hang for a few moments before backpedalling. “On a… low s-setting… I’ll… um…” He gulps down a lump in his throat and turns, picking up the pace back to his quarters. “Lock the doors till I get there.”

“Yes, young Anyo si-!”

Another scuff. Derf gives a hard shush and holds up a hand, signaling the Cephalon to keep quiet. He’d most definitely heard that one. Sneaking around during his Cephalon’s loud speech? Clever. “It’s a bit early to be sneaking around, don’t you think?” Derf cranes his neck, trying to peer around one of the corners he took. No answer. He turns back towards his initial direction a bit, looking down the hallway to try to spy any intruder. He expects to see a body. A form poorly concealed behind a wall panel or door. But instead, a sinister glint of metal peeking out from the next turn up the road. Derf’s blood flows cold. “Sark.” A chime overhead. The lump in his throat keeps him from speaking for a few moments. “C-Call… Call the guards.”

The metal glints again, and he is sprinting in the opposite direction before he knows it. The scuff of shoes on metal sounds again, loud and echoing from behind. Several pairs shadowing like hunters as he bolts. He hears three pairs become one and takes the time to glance over his shoulder. A Corpus out of uniform. Head wrapped in a black cloth and body covered in the standard silver jumpsuit. No id or markings on either pieces of clothing. An intentional anonymous assault…

And when he looks back around, there’s another. Nearly identical to the Corpus behind him, although a couple inches taller. Derf lets out a startled shriek and stumbles to a halt, half tripping over himself. He tumbles a bit, managing to keep himself on his feet at the cost of spilling the contents of his grip to the floor. But scattered data is the least of his problems at the moment. This is the one with the glinting metal. A crude piece of scrap wrapped with repurposed rubber and cloth for the grip. Sharp as a blade but rugged as a bat. Derf is cornered.

And their piercing gaze hits him from the gaps in the headwrap, sloppily pulled around the Corpus’s head. It was as if such an attack was a spur of the moment decision. The threat gingerly raises their blade, pointing at the young Anyo with it. “You’re telling everyone Kypyet’s the traitor, yeah?” Their Corpus is sloppy, ridden with crewman slang. Derf had heard his fair share of it, much to Nef’s horror. A lump catches in the man’s throat as he backpedals, glancing over his shoulder to find the other drawing closer. This one carries a fairly damaged whip. Cord loose and tip dangling a bit instead of tightly wound, it was at least a true weapon. 

The third Corpus finally comes skidding around the corner, with all the elegance and grace of a drunk Kubrow. They pause, glancing between the two before taking up position near the one armed with a whip. Derf narrows his gaze a bit at the newcomer, however. Their headwrap was an off white, torn at the edges. Like it had been apart of another article of clothing… A strip just above the gaps for their eyes reads a few Corpus characters, although they are somewhat obscured. He hears a muffled tone in his ears, but all he finds himself focusing on is the lettering. U-87. Kypyet’s units ranged from U-45 to U-98…

“The least you can fucking do is PAY ATTENTION WHEN I’M THREATENING YOU!”

Derf finds himself jolting, a sharp pain blooming in the side of his head. He shoots up an arm to hold it, staring down at the object now skittering across the floor. A hunk of raw slag. Heavy, but small enough to conceal in one’s pocket. He glances up towards the bladed Corpus again. They are stomping closer, a wave of panic rising in his throat. Derf’s hand shoots down to the right side of his belt, expecting a weapon of the sort. But of course, he returns it with disappointment. He fails to carry his weaponry during work.

The assailant grabs him by the front of his shirt, tugging him closer once within range. Close enough that they can practically taste the terror in his eyes. “Got your attention? GOOD.” Derf gets the feeling his neck brace is the only thing keeping him from being choked at the moment. “Now fucking ANSWER ME.” They shake him a bit, his heart racing under their touch. 

Was Kypyet the traitor? Derf finds a lump budding in his throat, and he attempts to gulp it down. “I-I… Listen-“ And he is tossed, a yelp escaping him as he hits the floor. He fails to bounce this time, not hard enough of a throw. Instead, he slides a bit, his assailant stomping to catch up with him. Anyo shuffles with quick thinking, turning and scrambling a bit to get to his feet. Before he knows it, he is nearly face to face with the whip wielding rebel, broken Galvacord lashing out to practically herd him. 

And it worked. Derf stops on a dime, giving his pursuer time to grab him by the back of his collar and whip him to the side. Face up against the near wall, young Anyo feels a knee press into his back. “The only fucking thing I wanna hear from you right now-“ His heart beat thumps into his very ears, panic welling in his throat. “-is a Yes…” He catches a glint of cold metal from the corner of his eye. “Or a No…”

And he is frozen, caught between three vengeful crewman he probably used to call distant friends. How quickly emotions can turn a lover to a fighter… Derf bites the inside of his lip and draws in a sharp breath. 

“Yes.”

It leaves his lips before he can think. The Corpus is shivering as the others snicker. “Don’t even know why we made you say it…” The owner of the rugged slag sword leans in and grabs a fistful of his hair. “Already knew  _ that _ … Just wanted to hear you fuckin’ admit it…” There is a pause. Derf stares a hole into the wall, trauma freezing him up as several openings to escape make themselves known. 

“But since you already have! We’ve got a proposition for you…” He can hear them shuffling. There is another approaching his pinned form. “Something you might actually appreciate. A way to… redeem your mistakes.” The crewman pulls his head back, and a thin cord drapes over his front. “Comply with it… and we’ll forgive you!” It wraps about his neck and slowly pulls snug against him. “Die like him and we’ll forgive you…”

And in the snap of one’s fingers, it is over. Well, in the crash of a wall panel against a skull. Derf stands dumbfounded, staring at the hydraulic shaft behind the wall section now outstretched before him. He glances further to the side, spying the slab of metal pin the whip carrying Corpus against the other side of the hallway. The other two had leapt back, letting Derf to his own devices as he glances down at the whip now unraveling from his neck.

“REMOVE YOURSELVES FROM THE PRESENCE OF YOUNG ANYO.”

_ Sark. _ It is his overhead angel that gently pulls the wall panel back a bit, letting it’s pinned prey flop to the ground. Not dead, but knocked cold. Derf finds himself falling to his knees, form pressed against the metallic walls that so caringly whisked him from danger. “PROSTRATE YOURSELVES, DELINQUENTS. THE AUTHORITIES WILL BE HERE SHORTLY.” 

Of course, the other two panic. Too terrified to approach the retreating wall panel, they abandon their comrade to flee, darting down the halls with terror. Derf is too shaken to look, staring into nothingness as he sets a hand on the wall. As if it was his guardian Cephalon he was touching. “Young Anyo?” He can hear the footsteps of security finally approaching. “You are alright… They are gone now…”

“You are safe.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinda short this time, sry
> 
> getting back in the swing of writing after a busy week, but enjoy!

“I’m pulling you out of the factory offices, Derf.”

The young Corpus is back in the doctor’s office, the same man patching up his new cuts. Nef is off in the corner of the room, arms folded as he thinks out loud. Derf sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose before flinching at the action. Right. Broken. “For once, I agree with you.”

The older Anyo perks up, raising a brow. “Really?” Derf nods and his uncle lets out a disbelieving huff. “That’s a first…” The man’s gaze returns to boring a hole through the upper cabinets, finger gently tapping his chin in thought. “I want to move you out to Neptune. I’m due for a visit anyways, so I’ll go with you.” At this, his nephew frowns. The doctor smirks and stifles a chuckle. “Not for good, of course. Just til-“ Nef waves his hand nonsensically. “-this all blows over.”

“Of course…”

Derf sighs, tilting his head as the doctor dabs at yet another wound. Poor bastard couldn’t get a break, it seemed. “What sort of work will I be doing, then?” He catches his uncle quirk a brow at him from the corner of his eye. “Like… where are you putting me?” Silence. Derf frowns a bit and gently pulls from his caretaker to look over at the elder Anyo.

Nef shakes his head. “Oh no. I’m putting you on leave for the time being.” Derf’s eyes widen a bit, and he scowls.

“What? Why?”

“Have you fucking SEEN the state you’re in, darling?” Derf huffs, and turns back to his original position. Face slightly tilted from his uncle, the doctor dabs a pad of disinfected gauze against the remnants of his slag induced wound. “You need a break. I’m sending you to Neptune for some time off while I deal with… this…” He hears the man sigh and glances over to watch him. Nef is pinching the bridge of his nose, free hand tucked over the opposite elbow to prop up his other grasp. He moves to rub circles into the edges of his eyebrows, just a hair's distance from his temples. The similarities of their body language briefly enrapture Derf. “This is going to be one hell of a day…”

“Least you didn’t get pelted with metal.”

Nef scoffs, rolling his eyes at the comment. “Don’t… even joke about that, Derf.” His tone is strained. Almost hurt. The Nightingale glances over to find his uncle furrowing his brow, fingers to the bridge of his nose once more. “How many times can I almost lose you?” If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve felt bad. Sure, the words tug a bit at his heart strings, but the younger Corpus remains stoic against alligator tears. His uncle isn’t mourning his inevitable death… he is mourning the potential loss of profit.

“How soon can we head out?” He watches his uncle perk up.

“Um… tomorrow morning to later today if you-”

“The sooner the better. If you… don’t mind.” He lets his eyes flutter closed, gauze pad pulled away. It is replaced by another sterile cloth, drying off the area. The doctor had said there would be no need for stitches, but bandaging would be required instead. So he sits still, gauze padding piling up and secured with medical tape. “May I take Sark with us?” He can almost hear Nef’s brow quirk. “Like as my assistant… Like he is at the moment.”

“He will be running the Index, but… if he has the spare processing power, I don’t see why not.”

His uncle’s footsteps ring as he circles about the examination table, coming to stop behind the doctor to watch his handy work. His eyes are closed, but he can hear him sigh. “I know you favor him, Derf…” He feels the doctor pull back, and a new hand touches his face. He leaves his eyes closed, knowing his uncle is potentially beside himself. Yet he quickly pulls away and heads towards the door. “I’ll get a transport readied for us tonight. You’re going to need people to pack your quarters up too.” 

Derf gives a non-committal noise, blinking open his eyes just in time to watch his uncle leave. The young Anyo sighs, twiddling his thumbs in his lap. What the  _ hell _ was he doing… Agreeing to run away with him? To give into the threats of the wronged? He feels a deep knot of guilt wind in the pit of his stomach. Derf scowls and turns away, sighing to himself. He should’ve known those Kypyet treated well would come back to bite him. Now they had to be passed onto crueler masters. Stingier pay checks. “Thank you.” He mutters half heartedly, tilting his head as the doctor resumes his work. 

“Hey, it’s all in a day’s work, kiddo.”

He wishes such a phrase didn’t have to be true.

* * *

His next message from Darvo is, interestingly enough, sent alongside his arrival at Neptune. Literally minutes after touching down at the docks of one of his uncle’s many facilities. This one had been a series of offices, a concentration of minds come together to help manage his profits across the system.

_ So, I had a thought….. -Mantis _

Derf quirks his brow at the message on his datapad. A small icon displays under the text. A scrawling pen to show the man was still typing. Why he decided to send this NOW was beyond the Corpus. “Derf?” His uncle’s incoming footsteps make him whisk the app from his display, and he looks up. Nef peaks out from behind the edge of the support beam Derf leans on, giving a warm smile as he approaches further. “There you are! Sorry about all-” He waves his hand back at the ship. “-of that. You know how it gets.”

His uncle’s traditional introduction to the area. Anytime they went somewhere new, he’d address those that received them directly. More of a showy ritual than business. His own personal touch on getting them to worship his every move. Yet it had been… a bit more unnerving than most times. Several had dropped to their knees for the man, practically kissing his feet. Derf had slipped away in the midst of the scene, getting a second to himself for the first time in the days it took to travel here. 

He shrugs. “I’ll be fine. Just a lil stuffy back there, you know?” He shoots his uncle a quick glance, noting the already wringing hands. Derf gently nibbles at the inside of his lip out of nervousness, dropping his gaze to his datapad. “I know we’ve… talked about it before, but…” His briefly purses his lips in thought. “Just don’t really like all that spotlight.”

A message pings as Nef looks away and sighs. “I know, I know.” Before he knows it, he is rubbing circles into the middle of Derf’s back, a small reassuring gesture. He looks back just in time to watch the recent ping fade out, quirking a brow at his nephew’s sudden tenseness. 

_ So I was thinking of swinging by for just a-... (Open to Read More) _

It is his uncle’s soft chuckle that makes Derf tense up. “Already expecting someone?” The lack of response draws forth a grin as he gently nudges the man. “Derf! Oh darling, I knew you kept interesting company, but I didn’t know you worked like THAT!” Anyo’s laughter only digs the younger one further into embarrassment as he locks the datapad and holds it to his chest. “I figured Kypyet wouldn’t be the only one!”

“Well… this one’s richer, I guess.”

“Good!” Nef steps off from leaning on the support beam, motioning for his nephew to follow. “Now come on! I want to get you all situated before I head off for business, okay?” The other Corpus shuffles behind, face still somewhat flushed at his uncle’s assumption. Anyo waves off the crewmen that stop to salute, but mostly ignores them as he continues to address his nephew. “So, I’ve opted you into a smaller suite. I know how you prefer that kind of thing…” 

Around the corner, a small transport swings in to dock up ahead. It is similar to what the dock workers would use to unload ships and the like, but this one is… a bit more detailed. Pre installed steps to board. A high railing inlaid with golden detailing. The back sported a couple of plush seats. This is… clearly not a common dock transport. Yet it is not something Derf is unfamiliar with. His uncle always had at least a couple per cruise ship. It is a personal transport, meant for Nef himself or family and allies. 

The pilot at the helm turns to them once he throws on the parking brake, the transport hovering a good couple inches off the ground. His suit is a bit more dolled up than the common crewman, probably personally trained for such a task. And he lifts his hands, touching either side of his helmet. A soft hiss of depressurisation sounds, and the hunk of metal pops right off. “Evening, sirs!” He tucks the helmet under the flight controls, giving the pair a small wave. “Been a while since you visited!”

Nef cracks a smirk as he approaches, holding out his arms as if in welcome. “Vek Xair! There you are!” Derf, feeling like the third wheel he truly was at the moment, stands back as his uncle regards this previously unknown man. The crewman hops down the steps in almost a giddy fashion, striding up to Derf’s uncle and quickly giving a curt bow. “My best, and favorite pilot!” Nef holds out a hand, allowing him to give the ritualistic kiss on the back of his palm before pulling the man into a brief hug. “But-”

“Don’t let the others find that out! I know, Sir Anyo.” 

Vek Xair. He pulls back and gives a slight head bow to Derf. “Young Anyo.” A mention out of respect. He turns and begins helping his uncle board the transport. “Now! I assume you two are heading to the main suites then, yes?” He is almost intimately careful with Nef, left hand at the back of the man’s shoulder and the other holding his hand as he stands to his right. Once Nef is aboard, his uncle moves to take a seat. Thankfully, his lack of full preacher wear allows him to finally relax, crossing his legs once he does so.

“Not at the moment. Derf’s heading to Block 6!” Vek quirks a brow, descending the steps and awaiting the younger one’s approach. And he does so willingly. Derf gives a nod of thanks, but refuses the held out hand as he steps aboard. The transport gently sways under his sudden weight, as it did with his uncle, and he gives it a moment to adjust before settling in. “He’s on… personal leave. I’m putting him somewhere a little further from usual business.”

And the young Xair hops aboard, that same giddy spring in his step. From his seat, Derf gives himself a moment to observe. The strict lines of his crewcut. The thick lining of tattoos that riddle his face and curl around to the back of his head. Freighter pilot. Bomber pilot. Derf furrows his brows as he reads the man’s history in ink. What didn’t this bastard fly? Xair kicks off the parking brake, and the craft raises up a few more inches. A total of a foot as he eases it to the side. His motions are fluid and natural, as if he were conceived and born in the navigation’s seat of a ship. 

The transport pitches forwards slightly, gently shuffling it’s delicate cargo as it takes off. He doesn’t even look down at the nav panel as he shifts gears via buttons on the side of the steering wheel’s mount. And he stands at the helm casually, as if this were truly a common transport craft. “Block six… Section?” He tilts his head back towards the pair, but never takes his eyes off his route. One gloved hand practically glued to the wheel. The other set gingerly on the other side, but ready to poke and flick buttons and switches if needed. 

“N-55.” Nef shifts a bit, getting more comfortable as he moves to pull a portion of his hair over his shoulder. Sleek black, his runs his fingers through it to take out a few snarls, but is careful with his scalp. Derf struggles to not crack a scowl. His uncle didn’t genetically have… the best hair. So instead, he fashioned his own from the hair of… lesser Corpus. His current wig stands in contrast to the bright white fur of his lined jacket. White breasted Virmink. “I’m just here to get him situated, but afterwards I’m heading to Block 18.” 

Vek nods at the helm, gently steering around a pack of concentrated security. What they were doing or observing, Derf didn’t get the chance to see. The transport cuts off his vision of the scene by turning a corner. Instead Derf is forced to watch his uncle gently brush out the mane he’d stolen.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi im having writers block im sorry

_ So, I had a thought….. -Mantis _

Derf finally has a moment to himself. His new quarters are similar to his previous ones, but thankfully a bit smaller. His… fixation on minimizing resources for himself had always confused his uncle. But, so long as he was loyal and hardworking, the man indulged him. Young Anyo lounges on his new sofa, kicking off his shoes under the coffee table as he swings his legs up onto the cushions. He sets his datapad on the slanted surface of his thighs, tapping back into his messaging app and reading the previously sent ping.

_ So I was thinking of swinging by for just a bit. I know you keep telling me we shouldn’t, but like. -Mantis _

_ I don’t know. I miss you. I want to make sure you’re okay. -Mantis _

The Corpus frowns and sighs, rubbing his temples with a hand for a moment. There’s rarely a way to talk down a stubborn Bek once they get a thought in their heads. Both Frohd and Darvo suffered the same bone headed outlook. Sure, it got the latter out of some sticky situations when they had no choice but to power through a blockade, but it mostly reared it’s thick head to be a pain in Derf’s already bruised ass. He briefly runs his hands down his face, groaning in the way one would when receiving a lecture from one’s parents. He sets his hands in his lap and begins to type.

_ Hon, you know what I’m gonna say to that. -Nightingale _

The response is almost instantaneous, and even Derf is surprised by it’s speed. Of course, it is riddled with typos and misspellings, but he could forgive the man.

_ Yeah, and? What are you gonna do? Fucking take my pilot’s license? I’d like to see you try, asshole. -Mantis _

And there it was. Derf sits with an unimpressed frown. The great Darvo V Bek. Infamous smuggler and modern Robin Hood. Throwing a baby hissy fit when being told his idea was risky and irrational. Derf gives another groan before moving to respond. However, the other man was still writing, and Anyo lowers his hands as to not interrupt him.

_ Listen, that shit with what’s his face kinda… shook me up, okay? Kinda makes me think how fucking fragile all this shit is. I could lose you at any second. -Mantis _

And his heart pitches into his stomach. Derf sits in silence for a moment, lost in thought as the text continues. And he knows Darvo is right. The freak accident with Kypyet could still happen with someone else. Hell, it almost DID, had Sark not intervened. Derf gingerly raises a hand to dance his fingers along the edges of his strangulation bruises. They still hadn’t faded.

_ Yeah, bitch. I’ve got feelings, okay. I miss you, but this is different. -Mantis _

_ I know you said you were heading to Neptune with Nef Shityo, but I still wanna stop in. -Mantis _

_ I’m coming over whether you like it or not. -Mantis _

Derf watches him type on and off, pursing his lips in thought. At the last sentence, he sighs and pinched the bridge of his nose. Stubborn Beks. This wasn’t something he could win, and honestly, he didn’t want to fight it. Mostly because… he wanted to visit as well.

_ Fine. -Nightingale _

He holds for a moment, watching Darvo’s unease show itself in the flickering of “Mantis is typing…” message at the bottom of the message box. 

_ I’ll see if I can’t take a ship out for a few days. Crew of defectors, tho. -Nightingale _

_ And yeah. For once, I think you’re right on this. -Nightingale _

Derf locks the datapad before he can watch Darvo gloat over his verbal victory, smirking to himself as it immediately lights up with pings. He shifts it onto the coffee table, moving to push himself to his feet. “Sark?” A chime sounds overhead. “Get me on the line with my advisor back on Venus, if you can.”

“Right away, Young Anyo sir!”

The Corpus makes his way to the kitchen, past the stove he was never taught how to use. He plucks a cup from the shelves overhead, digging in the freezer for some ice. “Thank you, Sark.” He pops a small cube into his mouth, sucking absentmindedly on it before working his way on chewing it for nothing more than sport. With a flick of the sink, he fills his cup.

There is a chime overhead as Derf moves to take a gulp. “You asked for me, sir?” A feminine voice. He takes a moment to practically chug before setting his cup down briefly and spitting the slightly chewed ice cube into it. It bobs a bit before settling. 

“Cut the formalities. Just us right now.”

“I see.”

“Regardless, how quickly could you gather me a resistance team on Neptune?”

His associate sputters for a moment as he returns to his living room, feet grateful to leave the cold stone flooring and onto the carpet. “Uh… Give me a second, Derf.” He perks up at the sound of her typing. “I caaaaan, um…” She draws out her speech as she researches, and Anyo smirks. “How soon do you need them? Best I can do is in two days to get them gathered and fully debriefed. Are you doing a mission?”

And Derf shrugs. “That’s good enough. I, uh…” He flushes a bit, swirling his drink. “I need to visit a friend. Shouldn’t be anything violent.” He listens to more typing. “Thank you, Iskra…” 

“Oh, don’t mention it.” Still, he smiles. “Uuuuh, I can get a team of four to six for you, how big a ship are you taking?” 

“Not too big. I’m swinging by Orcus relay.”

“Perrin business?”

Derf pauses for a moment, cup held up to his mouth. “Mmm… no.” His voice echoes back to him a bit from his drink. “Meridian.” He can almost see the look of uneasy shock on her face as silence follows.

“I see. Alright. I’ll get you four all set in two days time. Anything else?”

He shakes his head subconsciously, gently wiping the drip of water he missed from his chin in the wake of his gulp. “Nope. That was all. Thanks again.”

“Don’t mention it! And take care of yourself, Nightingale…”

The line cuts, and the chime sounds again to signal that Sark is back on the line. Derf chuckles and waves his hand dismissively. “You know what to do, buddy.” Another chime, and the Corpus lays back on the couch again. Legs crossed and head propped up on one of the throw pillows.

“Yes, Young Anyo sir! Records expunged!”

His eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a sigh he forget he’d been holding. “Awesome… Thank you.” His mutters echo his relaxation, but he waves his hand again. “Could you turn that thing-” He motions to the mounted display on the wall. “-to some monotonous shit? I need something boring to nap to.” The once blank image bursts to life with 4k quality channels, audio dulled as to not disturb. “Thanks, Sark.” 

“With pleasure, Young Anyo sir.”

* * *

The bruises were already beginning to fade…

Derf regards his reflection, bracing his arms against the bathroom sink. He lifts his chin, staring down the purple clouds mottling his skin. Of course, they had gotten worse before they got better. Thankfully, today is the start of the latter. Purple gives way to a slight brown, tan on the edges of the minor wounds. Still, it is not gone. He leans back, gently pulling up his collar as he leaves the room. 

Once he reaches the living room, the sound of knuckles on the door sounds. “Come in.” He assumes his call reaches this newcomer, as the door hisses open in their wake. Could it be his uncle? That crew he’d commissioned? He swings himself onto his sofa as footsteps ring out.

“Sir Anyo?”

The crew. Derf smiles and turns a bit, display before him dipping it’s audio as he crosses his legs. A lone crew pilot stands, helmet removed for such a meeting. “Ah! Evening!” He lays his arm on the back of the couch as he turns to look them over. “I trust you and the others are ready to go?”

They are almost timid as they speak, hands held behind their back. “As soon as we’re shown to your ship, sir.” The pilot nods as Derf turns away, plucking up his datapad. And as he taps away, they crane their neck to get a good look at the apartment. “Uh… Does Sir Anyo know about this..?” Derf is flicking himself into the messenger app before he acknowledges the question. 

“Yes, but he does not know the real reason.” The tablet is laid across his knees as he types, making sure his dear Mantis knew of his departure. “Don’t worry about him.” Derf flashes the pilot a smirk and a wink before returning to his datapad. “Sark? Take care of the place while I’m gone, okay?” The chime of his cephalon entering the conversation sounds.

“Yes, Young Anyo sir!”

“And if you could lock the door behind us.”

“Yes, Young Anyo sir!” 

Derf briefly rolls his eyes before setting down his tablet. He leans down, pulling out his shoes from under the coffee table before slipping them on over his grey socks. “Alright.” And he pushes himself to his feet, gathering the datapad in his hands and tucking it under his arm. “Walk with me.” He motions for the pilot to follow as he moves past them, slipping into the small hallway and out the door. True to his word, Sark shuts the door with a hiss behind them, a series of clicks following its lock. “You mind if I ask your name?”

The pilot pulls their hands forward, helmet in their previously hidden grasp. Silently, they set it onto the proper slots in their suit. A soft hiss of air follows, pressurizing it. “Borin, sir.” Their voice is altered in the headgear, robotic and low toned. Derf waits till they are situated before he leads them towards the docks. 

“Well, Borin… I hope you don’t mind Pluto’s airspace…”

  
  
  


Derf is practically prancing up the ship ramp, the quiet pilot in tow behind him. And he is welcomed with a series of Corpus smiles and grins. Pats on the back as the door slides shut behind him, ramp retreating into the inner workings of his personal craft. It had been a gift from Nef, but it was a good enough transport that he actually kept and used it. The same couldn’t be said for the many knick knacks gathering dust in his closet on Venus.

“Long time no see, Nightingale!”

A gloved hand sets a firm clap onto the back of his shoulder, and he returns the motion with a gentle nudge of his elbow. “Tell me about it! Glad to be back-” He strides with his crew, taking the co-pilot seat by the back and twirling it around. “-in the saddle, at least. Even if it is brief…” And he tosses himself into it, his momentum swinging it back around. Leaning over, Derf tugs out a micro usb cable from the underside of the control panel. “I’m gonna upload the coordinates, okay?”

Next to him, Borin slides quietly into their seat, adjusting the settings of its height for a moment. They nod in response. And just as it comes on screen, they’ve got hands on the console. Leaning back to flick a few switches above the seating arrangement. They melt into the role like a true pilot. 

And Derf leans back, waiting for the full transfer before unplugging his tablet. He lets out a soft sigh as the ship begins to come to life. Engines rumbling. Locks hissing into place. The anchors that leash them to the dock detach, swinging downwards and swaying with gentle momentum. The ascent is careful and slow. Borin guides them from the dock, dropping beneath the particular outcrop and heading towards the exit. It is a metal door that swings open on approach, a blue film separating the vacuum of space from the conditioned interior of the crewship. 

And the blackness of space welcomes them. Derf leans in to observe the horizon of Neptune, dark blue giving way to teal as the sun rises on its surface. Its delicate rings stretching into the dark vacuum. He finds himself leaning on the console, head in his hands as he smiles. 

For now, he is free.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi works been beating me directly in my fat cherokee ass
> 
> thanks corona for giving me the days off to finish this chapter  
(wash ur hands gayboy)

When Orcus showed itself over the black horizon, Derf just about lost his mind. For now, he remains pacing the small hall outside his sparse ship quarters, wringing his hands. How long had it been since they last met up? A few months? Or was it a year by now? The Corpus pauses, sighing and leaning his shoulder blades up against the wall. His eyes flutter closed and he pinches the bridge of his nose. After this week, he was sure to have a dent in the middle of his face if he kept up this nervous tick. 

“Derf!” Borin’s voice carries down the halls, and he jumps. “We’ve got permission to dock! I’m heading in!” And the Corpus cranes his neck to listen, heart jumping into this throat. Well, this was it.

“Yup! Be right there!” Was everything ready? He nearly lunges into his room, swiveling his head around like an owl to survey his luggage. Yes. Prepared. Okay. His heart thumps in his chest as he grabs the handle of one container, wheeling it out to the hall and leaning it against the wall. Back inside for another. 

By the time Derf finally rounds the front of the ship, he is weighed down by his supplies. One of the crewmen dives to help, but he gives them a half hearted wave. “No, no. I’m fine.” Regardless, they at least help him ease his bags to the floor. Even from his point of view, mostly shielded from the cockpit, he can spy Borin expertly swerve them into a parking space. The ship hovers, and then rocks as the relay locks them into place. “Alright…” Again, he is wringing his hands, hoisting a backpack’s straps over his arms as he gets ready. “I don’t mind where you guys go, but please keep your comms on. I’ll let you know if we need to leave before scheduled.” 

And there he stands. The Legacy of Anyo Corp. Weighted down by bags and luggage. A nervous shell of his former self. The previous crewmen merely scoffs, patting the Corpus on his skinny shoulder before heading further into the ship. “As if you won’t be so wrapped up in your boy-toy that you forget all about us?” The comment draws a furious red over Derf’s cheeks, who stiffens and sputters a comeback. 

“I mean it! If Nef wants me back, we need to be out before he sends a second request!”

The defector waves him off with a knowing smile, doors already hissing open behind Anyo. And with cheeks a flame, he turns and glances down the boarding plank, eyes already alight. “Aaand there he goes.” Another taunting smirk from inside the ship, unheard as Derf finally laid his gaze upon the prize that had led him here. 

Darvo V Bek. Arms folded. Pausing from a pace at the base of the boarding plank. He stops and turns, nibbling at the inside of his lip. Nearby, a familiar, unmasked Grineer leans against a couple of cargo boxes, presumably shooting the shit with the Corpus. Yet their conversation drops like a brick as the pair lock gazes. Clem rolls his eyes as the thief nearly goes flying. 

“There you are!” The voice is in his ears, and Derf finds himself barreling down the runway. Darvo’s arms wrap themselves around and around, trapping him in a hug he knew he needed but could never quite acquire. “Took you long enough!” He can feel the crooked smile curling against his cheek as the Corpus leans his head against his own. His face into the crook of his neck. Derf shudders with a familiar chill. “Now what’s with all the bullshit?”

The man had leaned back, hands still on Derf’s arms as he regarded the several bags. “Hmm?” Anyo glances towards the rolling luggage, pursing his lips. “Uh… Just a change of clothes.” A pause. Darvo moves to his side as the pair begin to descent in a more timely fashion. “Aaaand a few things I was told to smuggle to the Perrin.” And Bek rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, figured this wouldn’t be just personal for you.”

“Unlike SOME people, I have business to attend to, DARVO.”

Derf grins at his partner’s scoff, leaning in towards the Grineer’s offered hug as they touch down at last. A few of his crew spill out behind him, equally as talkative. “Good to finally see you again.” Clem’s heavy accent is the first to set a careful kiss to Derf’s pale cheek, bringing out his blush even further. “Now gimmie one of those.” Unlike the Corpus, Anyo wastes no time in fighting Clem for custody of his ‘garbage’. It would ultimately be pointless. So he hands off some of the rolling bags, the Grineer moving it to his other hand so he could entwine fingers. 

“Mm, thanks.” Darvo’s arm at his lower back. Clem’s hand wrapped with his. Derf briefly sighs and lets them lead him, eyes closing as they stride from the docks. “Is Baro here this time? Forgot to mention how nice that new get up looks on him.”

And his gaze opens to the wonders of Orcus, Pluto just peeking on the horizon. Charon in full view as the moon swings around it’s orbit. “Nah. He’s back in the Void for a while.” Derf’s brief pout betrays him, and Darvo lets out a chuckle. “Hey! Means we get the bed to ourselves!” 

“Yeah, if you don’t kick us both off in the middle of the night.”

Clem’s mutter draws a knee jerk snort from Derf, the Grineer giving a nod towards some familiar Meridian on another runway. Anyo’s gaze swings to a quite disgruntled Darvo for a moment before cracking with a laugh. “Did he really?” Another nod, followed by a bitten lip to hide a smirk. 

“Oh yeah. Full fucking horse kick to the hips.” The group eases up the steps to the entrance, Darvo giving a quick wave to the current guard on duty. “Nearly got me in the dick, too.” It’s a Meridian this time. Black armored heavy gunner with a sleek, eyeless helmet. Reflective visor and all, they pause to watch the three scramble inside. Clem glances away with a soft clearing of his throat. 

“Is he gonna do that everytime he sees us hanging out, hon?”

“Yeah.”

Their voices hushed, Darvo cranes his neck to look out the door now behind them. The Grineer is… sheepish. Slightly flushed. Derf perks up, brows furrowed. “Huh? Who? That gunner?” He pauses, glancing back as well. For the moment, the Meridian is preoccupied. They set their gun upon their shoulder, shifting weight from foot to prosthetic foot. He swears he sees a glittering gold strapped to their hip. 

“Don’t worry about it!” And Clem is pulling him back around, a hand to Derf’s arm as he continues. “Come on! You, uh… You must be exhausted! We should get you settled in!” Still, Derf looks back, spying the Meridian watch them again. An uneasy feeling in his gut, the Corpus turns back around and shoots Darvo a worried frown. In response, the defector shakes his head.

Young Anyo is confused… but free.

* * *

“SYNAPSE!” 

Darvo all but struts into his personal quarters, which is laid out more like a full blown apartment. All pomp and no tact, the Corpus vaults over the back of the couch and flops down on its surface. Clem gives a scoff as he helps Derf with his accessories. One of the luggage items had been dropped off with the Perrin, full to the brim with smuggled gear and medicines. Temperature controlled, of course. “Put on something good!” 

Anyo perks up at the man’s shouting, shooting a quirked brow to Clem. <<Darvo.>> The Cephalon swoops into the scene without so much as a chime, nearly startling poor Derf out of his jacket as he moves to peel it off. <<I am NOT your personal assistant. Change the damn channel yourself.>> And one with such an attitude? Derf crinkles his nose, unaccustomed to such a vocal Cephalon. A program like this one would’ve been quickly overwritten in Nef’s hands.

“Don’t care!” Darvo kicks off his shoes, one of them flying across the room and landing next to a bookcase. “Put on something GOOD!” He stretches his arms and swings his legs up onto the couch, leaning back onto a couple of throw pillows as he relaxes. 

“Yeah? Not gonna help then, you lazy shit?”

The snarky remark leaves Derf’s mouth before he has a chance to even process it, his form going stiff with regret as Clem cackles with laughter. Darvo peeks a glare from behind the back of the couch, frowning. “Hey! My house, my ru-!” He is cut off by a sudden blaring noise from the TV. It flicks to life with… crude imagery. Very heterosexual, very lewd imagery. Full volume. Full view of tits. 

Bek gives a startled shriek, jumping a mile before tumbling to the floor. He slaps around on the coffee table, scrambling for the remote as the full volume pornography echoes around the apartment. And it shuts off, Clem’s cackling finally audible again. The Grineer is leaning against the wall near the Corpus, wheezing for air as Darvo shoots to his feet. “SYNAPSE?! WHAT THE FUCK!”

<<Have you learned your lesson?>>

“YOU COULDN’T HAVE AT LEAST MADE IT GAY?” Bek’s hands gesture wildly with emotion, face red as his heart races. With a groan, he drops the remote to the table and flops back down on the couch. “UGH! Whatever, I’m fucking telling Alad you’re being a DICK!” And he reaches for the device in his pocket. A miniaturized datapad, all in a compact, handheld form. A smartphone, in a sense. 

<<Oh no. Don’t do that. Whatever will I do.>>

“Alad..?” Derf quirks a brow again, rummaging in one of his bags to pull out a pair of slippers. He moves to kick off his shoes by the door, pulling those on instead. He knew Alad had a… presence on Orcus. Newly defected. Newly ‘cured’, if such a thing was even possible. Newly integrated with the Perrin Sequence and with Glast’s bedroom. 

“That’s HIS shitty fucking CEPHALON!” Darvo jabs a finger towards the ceiling, phone already at his ear as he leans back. “Fucking prick ass dickhead son of a bitch.” A few more strings of random curses follow as he gets comfortable, Clem finally regaining his composure behind them. The Grineer locks the door to a few wayward giggles, hand on Derf’s shoulder as he eases him further into the living room. Finally, Darvo perks up, a shit eating grin curling on his face. “Oh hey, DAD!”

“DAD?!” Oh this wasn’t going too well. Derf crinkles his nose as he sits. “You actually CALL him that?” Sure, he hadn’t taken the initial news well, but he couldn’t have just dumped Darvo at the time. Alad had been the mysterious… genetics donator to Frohd’s enterprise, finally filling in the gaps in Darvo’s Corpus pedigree. 

Bek holds up a finger as he listens. “Yeah, yeah! Just wanted to let you know we’re all settling in nice!” A chime suddenly rings, and the man scowls. “Oh HELL no, you get BACK HERE, YOU FAILED FUCKING FIREWALL.” He pulls the phone away for his outburst, grumbling as he scoots back into comfort. “Huh? Oh. Synapse. Derf just got here and the mother fucker put porn on full blast on my fucking display. I need you to ground him.” Derf can only imagine the exasperated tone behind the connection, but Darvo’s pout tells him all he needs to know. “Yeah?! Well it was STRAIGHT. He put on STRAIGHT PORN. Tell him to at least give me my DIGNITY BACK!”

With a scowl, Darvo finally pulls back the device, hanging up before tossing his phone onto the coffee table. Gestures such as that was probably the reason the screen is spider webbed with cracks. “Are you done?” Derf’s gentle question, however, gets the man to relax. He runs his hands over his face, groaning into them a bit before pushing himself up. His socks scoot on the floor as he moves around the couch. 

“Yeah! Yeah, sorry.” And he’s nearly Derf’s side, taking a bag of clothes and hoisting it into his grip. “Let’s get this shit in the bedroom, though. Give you some time to unpack, okay?” Anyo nods behind him, grabbing another and following the defector’s lead. 

“Gonna let Cressa know you’re gonna be busy for the night, alright?”

Clem heads further into the apartment, snatching a bottle out of the fridge from their open kitchen. A tiled room across from the lounge. He is already plucking the touchscreen on his handheld datapad. “Yeah! Thank you!” Darvo cries to him from the bedroom entrance, the door sliding open on their approach. And he tosses the bag onto the bed, bouncing briefly before sinking into the mattress. 

It is… briefly awkward as Derf glances around the room. It’d changed since he was gone. A few knick knacks here. A pile of socks there. He brushes a thin film of dust off the surface of Darvo’s alarm clock, painfully underused and forgotten on his nightstand. “Ugh, what the fuck did you PUT in these things?!” Darvo grumbles as he hoists the other bag up onto the bed, moving for the zipper. Before Derf can stop him, he is digging through the man’s spare clothes, as if searching for some hidden weight set in there specifically to annoy him. “No… just a lot of bullshit. Honestly, are you even going to WEAR all of these?”

The Corpus scoffs nearby, moving to sit gracefully at the side of the bed. It is soft, and thankfully huge. Enough room for all three for the night. “You underestimate how much I’m willing to change.” His lover rolls his eyes and stuffs the now unfolded mess back into the luggage bag, struggling to zip it back up. Derf’s eyes wander downwards… and he toys with his thumbs. “You, uh… You sure you don’t mind me hanging out here?”

The speed at which the other snaps his head up is astonishing. “Of course not! Why would I?” Derf gives a shrug as an answer, and he finds himself rubbing at his still bruised neck. Old purple splotches peek up from under his collar. Darvo stiffens and frowns. Silent, he steps around the edge of the bed and nears him. “Hey…” And a hand overlaps the one Derf had set in his lap, drawing his gaze back to the Meridian. “We’re glad to have you here… If it’s our home, then it’s yours too.”

The gentleness of tone. The genuine stare now fixed on him. Derf feels his chest swell, and he scoffs as he quickly looks away. A sniff. He raises his hand to rub his eyes, trying to keep them from welling under the sudden rush of emotion. “Yeah, yeah. I know.” His lover leans down to set a kiss on his pale cheek. 

“I’m dead serious.”

“I know, I know!” 

And then he feels the fluttering touch of another hand on his neck. It is careful, but still previously unseen. The young Corpus jumps, under the gaze of his lover but mind snapping into a new state like the change of a railroad track. The quick click to attention, and they are locking gazes. Darvo reels his hand back, eyes wide as he stiffens. “I-... Shit, I’m sorry. I, uh-”

Derf sits in a brief confusion. Once nearly brought to tears by the sudden sincerity of his love. Now gently tugging up his collar with a deep weight in his gut. “I’m… It’s okay. Still kinda hurts a bit.” A lie. There had been no pain. Only a split second of rushing blood and lungs filling with air. Only a snap to attention. He gently rubs at his bruises. “You want to, uh… go get something to eat or anything?” 

A diversion. His nerves jitter in the back of his mind as he smiles, thankful that the action instantly put his lover at ease. “Oh! Yeah, yeah. I think Clem wanted to help cook tonight, but I’m sure he’d be alright with a quick snack.” Darvo briefly leans down to set a kiss on Derf’s scalp before heading to the door. “I’ll go get something while you settle in! Probably would wanna get into something more casual as well, knowing you.”

Derf’s laugh follows. “See, there’s a reason I brought all those clothes!” And the door hisses shut. And he is alone in the bedroom. Alone with his paranoid nerves and bitter pulse. The Corpus slowly frowns as he tugs at his collar. As he recalls the hint of fingers. The callous grip. 

Derf pushes himself to his feet, and heads for his luggage…


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay holy fuck its been a while
> 
> i really have no excuse other than ive been swamped with work and trying to unwind between that. also i moved i guess
> 
> anyways i wrote this chapter in one sitting out of a spurt of inspiration. enjoy

“It’s been a while since your last visit, yes?” True to his word, the Nightingale had changed into something far more fitting. A sleek, black and grey suit. Accompanied by a dark grey coat lit with sky blue emmissives. A metallic mask akin to the face of a bird, beak tucked against his lips and ending at his chin. The half lidded eyes hold the same light as his coat, and it thankfully cloaks his voice. “And with such offerings. I must say, you are probably my best contact at the moment.”

For now, he strides with the one and only Ergo Glast. A man currently cradling a mass of datapads in his hands with a joyful grin on his face. Derf's recent smuggle run had put him in a fantastic mood, it seems. “Just doing my job, of course. You know how it is.” And the younger one dips his head in a respectful partial bow. Glast scoffs and briefly rolls his eyes.

“Yes, yes. So charitable and full of kindness. Don’t try to brush off my thanks!”

“I’m n-”

Glast waves off his concern, and motions him to follow. “Come. Walk with me.” Derf stiffens as they leave the syndicate room, working their way down the relay halls. He really had no need to wear his full Nightingale get up… but his paranoia had gotten the best of him. As if he hadn’t entered the building maskless, his worry of spies among the Perrin was too great. “A good portion of these supplies are going to be sent to some Europan Kavor colonies this time.” The consent makes the younger one perk up. Glast shifts through his data pads before holding one out to him. “They are in dire need of some first aid and basic rations after a neutral party raid on their outposts.” The screen is lit with Kavor casualties. A log of what had been lost. 38 indoor growing rooms. Internal farms to supply the colony. 17 freight ships. The bulk of their few connections to the outside world. 

“I… Wow.”

The death count makes his stomach churn. “I know… Cressa usually deals with Kavor, but she’s hurting on supplies this time around.” Ergo purses his lips as his brows furrowed in pity. They step into the relay elevator. “Our last syndicate meeting ended with a few pledging some resources to her effort. I know we normally don’t see eye to eye, but…” Derf looks up at him as they stand in the glass like machine. Glast punches a number on the holographic display that blooms before them. As it dissipates, the elevator begins to shoot upwards, causing the young one to briefly stumble. “I am not that heartless. There are people in need. So I’m giving her the bulk of our healing supplies and a few… organic rations to help rebuild their stores of food.” Again, he briefly thumbs through his datapads. Derf is quick to hand the one he held back. “Thank you.” The elder shuffles it back into his collection. 

And for a moment, they are quiet. Ergo stares down at the returned device with a slight frown. He sighs and looks back up, but averts his gaze from the other. “Derf, I-...” His smuggling partner flinches a bit. “Right, sorry. Nightingale…” Glast holds up a free hand in apology. “I know. The nerves.” And it returns to the base of his neck, rubbing out of nervousness. “I… I’ve been thinking about allegiances lately… I know you’re not OFFICIALLY a Perrin, but…” He shrugs, returning his gaze to the masked one. “You’ve done so much for us… for me… I just wanted to let you know.” And a sigh. “I think I might want to realign us with the Meridian instead.”

“Really?!”

Derf isn’t… upset. Merely taken aback. His form perks up, head tilted. Glast’s frown curls further, gaze averted with uncertainty. “Keyword being THINKING…” Another sigh. The elevator continues to whir, the elder too used to his movement to be bothered. “I… just feel like me and Amaryn don’t… see eye to eye anymore. Morals wise.” A scoff. He rolls his eyes. “She had the audacity to lecture Cressa at the meeting. Said the Kavor weren’t worth helping since they won’t help the effort against the Grineer.” 

“Kinda scummy…” The Nightingale folds his arms, smirking under his mask at the soft chuckle he drew from the syndicate leader. Glast grins, shaking his head as he wraps his free arm back around the datapads.

“Tell me about it…” He takes a moment to think. “We’ve been… drifting apart for a while now. This isn’t the first time I’ve thought this, but… That kind of put it into focus, you know?” He purses his lips and returns his gaze to Derf. “What do you think?” A beat of silence. The other is at a loss for words. “I know you’re no super fan of Grineer, but… I’d value your opinion regardless.”

“Glast, you know I’m dating a Meridian, right?”

“Huh?”

The look of genuine surprise on the man’s face makes Derf throw his head back with a laugh. “Clem! I’m with Clem and Darvo!” Ergo blinks for a brief moment and then cracks a smirk. “What I’m saying is… no I’m NOT a fan of the Grineer out in the system… But I’m… I’m closer with defectors.” For a bit, Derf wrings his hands. “I think it’s a good idea. A GREAT idea.” A breathy laugh. “I’m wondering why you didn’t do it sooner!”

At this, Glast sighs, frown returning to his heavily wrinkled face. The elevator is finally beginning to slow, reaching great heights in the relay that tenno weren’t normally found. “Well… Amaryn and I have… been through a lot as leaders. As friends.” An expression of what Derf could only read as mourning emerges. “I don’t want to seem like I’m abandoning her or her people… but I feel as if her scope on the system is…” 

“Flawed?”

Ergo nods. “Skewed.” He taps his foot restlessly, watching the floors slip by around them. “I want to help people, and she does too! But…” His mouth curls into a brief scowl. “She is  _ picky _ about who she helps. Just as I used to be.” The Perrin shakes his head. “I’ve been interacting more and more with Cressa… and it’s been changing my views and ideas, I guess.” There is a beat of silence as he shrugs. “I want to help people that she couldn’t care less for. I don’t think that’s a good thing to base an alliance off of.” 

Finally, their ride slows. Coming to a gentle halt, Derf follows the Perrin off the platform and down even MORE halls. More and more of the syndicate were gathered on this floor. To be expected, considering this is the Perrin Labs. The door before them hisses open, and Anyo is introduced to a lively space of bright white and sky blue. Of Corpus, young and old with the rich and poor, interacting. Discussing research. Performing maintenance. A pair of Perrin crouch before a moa in the corner, buffing out a few dents in the poor robot’s chassis. A diversity he had never seen mingle in his uncle’s territory. “One second, Nightingale.” 

Ergo holds up a hand as if to apologize as he trots off at a slightly accelerated rate. Approaching a group of Corpus gathered outside an open threshold. A handful of young, possibly adolescent, engineers all with datapads in hand. Standing before a slightly hunched elder, back turned to the oncoming pair. Still, Derf follows behind a bit, slower than Glast. The raven haired elder motions with his hands, his companions noting occasionally as he speaks. And the Perrin leader shuffles his documents into one arm as he approaches. Silent. Almost sneaking to a degree. He sets a hand on the small of the elder’s back, and the man jumps.

“ ** _KOPY TUYK!_ ** ” The Corpus curse makes Derf jolt a bit, but he quickly erupts into chuckles. Same with the leader, although his laughter grows with volume, the startled man slapping at his shoulder. “Ergo! Don’t FUCKING do that!” As the other turns, shooting a scowling glare of rage at the Perrin leader, Anyo pauses. He knows that face. That voice.

“Alad..?”

Mutalist gaze is shifted from the still cackling Glast to the Nightingale, expression melting to surprise. Almost instantly, his face curls into an open mouthed smile. “Little Birdie!” He tenses at the term. “My my, how LONG has it been?!” Alad briefly turns to his students, hands together in a quick apology. “Excuse the interruptions, but I think we’re going to break here.” The adolescents nod almost thankfully, a few sighing and already setting away their notes. “But we regroup in an hour! Don’t be late!” Regardless of his commands, they were already dispersing, leaving Alad with the quiet Corpus and his still wheezing lover. 

“YOU.” Glast is still nursing a few chuckles when Alad stabs a witch like finger at him. “Need to stop fucking DOING THAT. My students don’t need to see me SHRIEKING like a young Virmink!” The Perrin leader wipes at his gathered tears of laughter, straightening up but still bearing a shit eating smirk. “I am… terribly sorry about his unprofessional behavior.” The mutalist turns back to Derf, scowling and sighing. “I hope he didn’t bring you up here just to watch that…”

“No, actually. We were talking business until we came in.”

Alad rolls his eyes and groans. “Okay, good. Saves me SOME embarrassment.” The man briefly rubs his temples, a quirk Derf had actually seen before. In the moments of Darvo’s worry before he was about to make a nasty, sarcastic quip. “I take it you’ll want some privacy to talk, then? Come on.” He turns to the open threshold, grumbling at Glast’s attempt to reconcile with him. A gentle hand to the small of his back, careful and loving. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me.”

The mutalist shrugs his lover off, producing another peel of chuckles from the syndicate leader. Derf sighs and follows behind, slipping into the private office as the door hisses shut behind him. “I was actually going to take him to one of our smaller business rooms, but this can work too!” Glast sets a small kiss on Alad’s wrinkled cheek as the eldest sits behind his cluttered desk. A grumble responds to the gesture. “But yes! Where were we?”

“Allying with Cressa?”

Alad quirks a brow, looking up at his partner as he takes the datapads from him. “Oh? You’re actually considering it?” He briefly shuffles through them like papers, a motion Glast had taken in the elevator. His lover nods.

“I was telling him about it. Prying for his opinion, of course.” Derf slips around a bit of mechanical clutter on the floor to pull up a chair. He sits before the desk, mask remaining and legs crossed. “I still… feel hesitant. I don’t know how Amaryn will take it.” Alad, turning his chair towards a set of monitors to his right, rolls his eyes and scoffs.

“Why the fuck do you care so much…”

“Well, he’s good friends with her, for starters…” The mutalist quirks a brow and casts a side glance in Derf’s direction as he speaks. Just as quickly however, he returns to his displays. “And he’s probably not as good at cutting people off as we are…”

“We..?”

Alad’s sliding glare finds him, and the young Corpus briefly regrets speaking. However, Glast thankfully interrupts the moment. “And he’s right! I want to change allegiance, but… I don’t wish to upset her.” He wrings his hands briefly, catching his lover’s attention before he shoots a rude comment. “I don’t… wish for our relationship as syndicates to end in mutual hatred, but rather neutrality.” The eldest shakes his head.

“I still think you’re being too nice.”

Glast pulls up a chair next to him. “Maybe so.”

“And we’re probably not going to solve that right here and now…” Alad turns his chair towards the newcomer, folding his hands on his lap. “So to more immediate concerns… How has the little Birdie been? Still in hiding?” He motions to the young Corpus, and Derf’s hand instinctively raises to touch his mask. “You know, you don’t have to-”

“I want to.” Derf cuts him off, drawing the old Corpus to frown. Glast gently sets a hand on Alad’s lap, exchanging a brief look. “I-... I’m sorry.” He wrings his hands in his lap, nibbling on the inside of his lip. His voice remains distorted, even though both of them had already heard it. Both of them already knew. “I just… I know you say this area is safe, but…”

“You worry.” The Nightingale nods silently. Glast frowns and sighs. “Well… Don’t worry about it.” He takes Alads wrist and gently squeezes it when he notices the man move to speak out of the corner of his eye. “Mask or not, you’re welcome here. If Nef has any spies in my rank, I’ll make sure they’re taken… care of…” And he straightens, noting the way the current topic made Derf slightly curl in on himself. “But I do hope you’re settling in well! I know Darvo and his… group are a bit overwhelming but…” Ergo briefly purses his lips in thought. “If you need somewhere quiet, you know where to look, alright?”

For a moment, Derf glances up at the pair. Alad casts an odd look at his leader and lover, raising a brow. In response, Glast gives him a quiet nod. The way the grey haired Corpus spoke to him was… almost familial. “Uh… Yeah.” Derf shifts awkwardly. “Thank you.” He wrings his hands a bit in his lap and suddenly moves to stand. “Speaking of which, I should get back to them. He’s… been kind of clingy since I showed up. Don’t want him getting whiny again.” Alad scoffs at his desk and turns back to his monitors.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

A grin curls on his face, and he flicks through a few pages of data on screen. “Of course!” Glast moves to stand as well, a respectful gesture as the other heads for the door. “I’ll let you know if I need you for anything, alright? Give you some updates!” And Derf nods. The threshold hisses. Over his shoulder, he spies the smile of what could only be described as a hopeful father.

The hiss sounds again.

The Nightingale presses his back up to the door for a moment.

And he sighs.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow its been a while
> 
> ive been stuck on how to end this part, sorry

“So I hear you met with ol’ dad…”

Darvo is… almost anxious as he sips his drink. The afternoon had wound down to the triad relaxing at home, Derf more than eager to do so. “Hm? Oh yeah.” He briefly quirks a brow before turning back to the counter. He stirs his tea with a plastic spoon. Disposable. Darvo hated having to wash dishes and so opted to rinse and recycle. “Wanted to meet up with Glast and, uh… Yeah. Caught him in the middle of… a lecture, I think?”

The other corpus nods, staring down into his coffee before taking another sip. “Yeah, he teaches engineering to new recruits now.” A swirl of his mug. “Better than harassing tenno, I’ll say.” In response, Derf shoots a look over his shoulder, frowning. “Well, I mean before he got here.” Darvo waves a hand in dismissal. “Ya know… Mutalist… and all that.”

Derf, meanwhile, gives a shudder at the thought. Groaning, he turns and steps towards the island counter, setting down his drink on the seatless side. Leaning his elbows into the surface, he takes a careful sip. “Don’t remind me…” A brief grimace. 

A sudden knock at the door snatches their attention. Grinning, Darvo is the first to leap to his feet. “Coming!” He tugs out his small, smartphone-like datapad, unlocking it as he punches a PIN into the threshold’s security mechanism. It hisses open, and a simply dressed civilian stands attentive. Bags in their arms, they glance around the corpus for a place to put them.

Which is where Derf comes in. Straightening up, he swerves around his partner, still fumbling with his device, and moves to take the delivery. Muttering a thank you, flashing a smile, bowing a nod. “Hang on a sec. Sorry.” Darvo frowns and nibbles at the inside of his lip. The civilian pulls out their own datapad, glass unfolding from the chip of metal like magic. “Okay here we go. Sorry about that.” They shake their head.

“Nope! Take your time.” 

For a brief moment, the two hold their devices about a foot from each other, but stiffly lined up. After a bit, a soft chime plays on them, and the pair relaxes. Darvo locks his device and gives a slight wave of his wrist. “Awesome! Thanks again!” To which the deliverer responds with a nod as they stuff their device in the front of their jacket. 

“Don’t mention it! Enjoy!”

And the door hisses shut behind him. Derf had brought the bags to the kitchen island, setting them down and checking to see if everything was correct. “Which one was yours again?” His lover returns to his side, also picking through the delivery before pulling out a plastic container. Thankfully transparent. “Ah, nevermind.” 

Darvo pops open the lid, hit with the smells of fresh cooking. Well, as fresh as delivery could get. Considering the relay’s local hydroponics in the floors far above, the meatball sub was far better than most dishes the Corpus had access to. That’s not even CONSIDERING loyalist Grineer food… 

However, the defector jumps a bit, quickly tugging his phone from his back pocket. Derf considers leaning over to read it, but decides against being that nosey. Instead, he merely picks at his order, a basic entree of pasta and chicken. Filling and not too complex. Cheap relay garbage had always been a secret comfort food. The growing look of concern on his partner’s face makes him pause, quirking a brow. “You alright..?”

Bek bites his lip, quickly moving to close the containers of food and towards the coat rack. He practically rips his Meridian jacket from the hook, throwing it over his shoulders. The rapid motions make Derf jump, tensing up as Darvo stuffs his phone into his pocket. “It’s, uh…” He purses his lips briefly in thought, pausing before zipping up his jacket. “Something’s up with Clem.”

Oh. Derf stands almost motionless as he watches the man snatch up his keychain, mostly consisting of the code chip for the apartment door and a small set of ferrite knuckles. The invite wasn’t given, but he leaps to action regardless. Before his love is even out the door, he is trailing behind, hastily pulling on his mask and coat.

\--

The Meridian communications room is alight with concern. A huddled group of Grineer sits to the side, a pair of medics slipping in and out with supplies. Derf is quick to adjust his voice modulator as his partner rushes in to assess the situation. How so? Directly to the source, as usual. Cressa leans in the comms panel, cursing under her breath with Grineer words the heir failed to recognize. “Where is he?” She doesn’t even need to look at Darvo to know his presence, motioning over her shoulder with a jabbing thumb. 

And immediately, the Corpus worms his way into the growing crowd. Derf attempts to peer over the agents, but finds that he is, for once, the shorter one here. Giving up on the venture, he turns to the Grineer leader herself. “What’s going on..? Are you guys alright?” His tone is warped. Deepened. Melodic. Cressa turns a bit, quirking a brow at his entrance.

“Nightingale?” For a moment, she looks him over, pausing with thought but decided against making it vocal. Cressa turns back to the communications setup, mostly held together by duct tape and dreams. With a scowl and a scoff, she performs some expert percussive maintenance on the side of the static display. It immediately erupts back into text and data. “Fucking Corpus, that’s what’s wrong.” He tilts his head, watching as she leans over towards the keyboard. Fingers fly and data streams over the display. “Trying to get through to those lil’ shits in regards to some Kavor stuff, and…” 

Again, the display converts to static. Cressa grimaces and leans back, giving a loud shout of what Derf assumed to be another curse. Again, she smacks the side of the monitor. It fails to respond. The woman groans, folding her arms before reaching up to rub one of her temples. “I don’t know WHAT the fuck they did, but it’s completely fucked our system.” She then motions to the narrowing group. “And given the agents working with them a nice case of tinnitus, as if they weren’t already growing deaf.” 

Corpus… Derf pauses, watching the screen fade back into green text on a black background. Looking over the set up, the entire thing appears to be forged out of reclaimed Grineer assets. Taped and welded together from different places into something new. And he fumbles with the headset now blaring white noise.

And he pulls up the operator’s chair.

Cressa moves to stop him, but the Corpus is already producing a chip from his pockets. Plugging it into the closest USB port of the communication system. Watching from the inside of his helmet as they connect wirelessly. He can barely hear her protests as his sense of hearing fades out…

  
  


And he is hit with a cacophony of garbled Corpus. OLD Corpus. A dialect he could barely understand. For once, all the pointless lessons of language history came to light. Hands on the keyboard, he draws in a breath. Relaxes. Exhales as he interrupts the lingual static with a sing-song tone.  **“This is Nightingale speaking…”**

Almost immediately, the sound cuts. The feed falls quiet as Derf begins punching in a few commands to the system. Laying a technological trap. “Nightingale..?” That they perfectly fell into. “Those Grineer dogs send you to do their dirty work now?” Whoever is answering him lets out a short, cocky laugh. “Well-” He hears the background sound of a squeaking chair. “-how can we help you, Nightingale?”

Of course they’re encoded. Derf scoffs a bit, glancing to the side to briefly watch Cressa converse with another of her agents. Hands motions to himself with a scowl. Whatever complaints she brought up fell on distracted ears. “Dirty work… an interesting choice of words.” He sighs, only able to imagine the smirk on the face of this assailant. “Especially for ones that use dirty tactics during negotiation. Tell me, what was the goal of these talks? Before you so rudely interrupted, of course.” 

Another short laugh. Background chatter meets his ears, but he can’t make out their words. “Of course, you work alongside the pigs…” A thick accent. General distaste for Grineer. Yes, a proper Corpus, but… “We assault their colonies, as is our right. They want to negotiate release for our spoils of war.” Derf tilts his head, quirking a brow. Where would a normal Corpus learn such an old dialect?

“Spoils of war?”

“Hostages!” It is the other’s turn to scoff. Derf is careful as he types further, making sure to get the spelling right. “THEY call them hostages. We like to call them…” The other leans back from the microphone, his voice briefly softer as he addresses what he assumes are shipmates. “ _ What was it?  _ Yeah! **Nonconsensual labor!**” 

And he grits his teeth. Briefly, Derf leans back in his seat, lowering the transmission and clearing his hearing once more. “Cressa, you didn’t fucking say this was a HOSTAGE situation.” His bitter tone slips through his voice modulator, and she gives another scowl.

“Hey! You never asked, you **mother** fu-!”

And he switches back into the communications. Before him, green code drips like a leaky faucet. Slowly loading in a manner that was starting to test his patience. “Very well.” He had to keep calm, regardless of the anxiety now bubbling in his throat. “What have they offered you?” 33 percent.

“HA! Offer? We’re not taking offers.”

48 percent.

“That’s why we gave them a nice dose of old Corpus medicine.”

56 percent.

“Medicine?” His eyes leave the loading bar as his head tilts again. “Are you talking about whatever that… mess was earlier..?” Old Corpus medicine. Medicinal how?

“An ancient tactic. Can’t say I’m not surprised you’ve never heard of it,  _ Nightingale _ .” The way he spits Derf’s code name with venom. Anyo frowns. “You can only get a dosage like THIS from those rich folk… Those who have dug into our past.” 69 percent. “You know who we came from, Nightingale… The ones who made sure these nasty pigs were beneath our feet…”

For a moment, the loading bar hangs. Yet in an instant, it completes. Again, trying his fucking patience. Derf cracks his knuckles, diverting a third being into the transmission. “You called for me, sir?” That equally sing-song tone gives him a warm feeling he hadn’t experienced since he got here.

“Greetings, Magpie.” The brief silence from the lingual assailant is priceless. 

“I-... Wait, what-” 

He leans back, arms folded as his faithful Iskra did what he could not. The computer can barely keep up with the flood of text now filling his screen. “I don’t know if you’re familiar, but… The magpie is a bird famous for intelligence and thievery.” The sound of the Corpus now scrambling makes him grin. Iskra’s code inputs a series of coordinates. Locale. Freight ships and their identification codes. “And my darling Magpie is so fond of such things…”

“All in a day's work, sir Nightingale.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Derf watches Cressa stare at the screen in near awe. She motions over another agent, pointing to the screen and mouthing something he couldn’t give attention to at the moment. “Magpies love shiny things… and my darling Magpie shall get her shinies… whether or not you consent to it.” 

“Wait, no! What the fuck? HOW ARE YOU-!”

Derf jolts the USB out of it’s port, pocketing it once more. He pushes back his seat, pushing himself to his feet as he catches Cressa’s fanged laugh. “I don’t know how the fuck you managed that, Nightingale… I’m gonna assume all those codes are good?” He nods.

“Should be the locations and ship numbers of wherever they’re hiding your people. I wish I could do more bu-”

She cuts him off, waving off the notion of offense. “By the Void, don’t worry about it! This is enough. I just need names, and I can work around it.” He steps back as she shuffles to sit again, pulling up the chair to type at the control panel. “You’ve got some magic fuckin’ fingers, I’ll give you that.” However, she motions her head behind them. “You’re gonna wanna check on them, by the way.”

Oh right.

Derf practically whips around when he’s reminded, diving into the now somewhat dispersed crowd. How could he forget? Had he been so wrapped up in his art of deception that they slipped his mind? He comes to several seated Grineer, all in various stages of what looked to be migraine symptoms. Darvo tucks himself on the remainder of the bench Clem sits at, form leaning forwards and head in his hands. When Anyo finally approaches, he stops short a few feet and wrings his hands. “Is… Is he alright?”

His Corpus partner shrugs. “Dunno…” He’s rubbing circles in the man’s back through his armor, helmet set in his lap for once. “Whatever the fuck that was, it made him non-verbal.” Darvo scowls and scoffs. “What’d those bastards say?”

Unsure of how to answer, Anyo sighs and shakes his head. “They called it… old Corpus medicine. Caught a brief bit of what they were broadcasting and it…” He pauses, pursing his lips beneath his mask. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard anything like it. Well, at least used in NORMAL circumstances.”

“Define normal…”

Derf shrugs. “I, uh… used to take lessons on old Corpus history. Like REALLY old shit.” He takes a moment to pull up a rather dented and scratched box for a chair, sitting fairly close to the pair but giving the Grineer his space. “And… The Corpus dialect I was taught during that… sounded really similar.” He taps a finger on his thigh, sighing. “Not exact, but…” Another shrug. “He kept going off about where we… came from? How they had the Grineer ‘beneath their feet’...”

Darvo bares a set of slightly yellowed and crooked teeth, kicking a nearby can out of frustration. It shoots under a set of wooden pallets and out of sight. “Son of a BITCH.” His outburst makes the Grineer beside him jump, and he immediately whips around with a look of guilty panic. “Oh fuck, I’m sorry hon.” Yet Clem leans back, eyes half lidded and glassy as he removes his hands from his face. Instead, they hesitantly motion out a few signs, pausing occasionally as he thinks of what to say. 

“Uh, Darv-?”

“In my head. Spikey? Buddy, I don’t know what you’re trying to-” Clem scoffs, giving Darvo a brief slap to the shoulder and a few more signs. “Alright, alright!” Another couple motions. “Old tongue. Spikey in the head?” A questioning look follows Bek’s interpretations. He quirks a brow. “Old medicine.” And his expression relaxes. “Bad medicine. Never liked the spikes...” 

Derf leans forwards, head tilted. “Never liked? Clem, have you heard that stuff before?” He shares a worried glance with Darvo. “This isn’t the first time?” The Grineer shakes his head, sighing and rubbing his face with his hands briefly. “Alright, alright. You don’t have to keep going.” He lets the pair simmer in his silence for a moment, the double agent sighing and rubbing his mask like his face. Steepling his fingers in thought. How had low born Corpus pirates gotten ahold of a language that old? And the information on how to USE it? 

The Nightingale pushes himself to his feet, giving Darvo a slight nod. “I’m… going to head back, I think. I’ve still gotta go over the data with Magpie and… well, arrange her pay for this favor, of course.” Still had to conduct business. The other Corpus nods, scooting closer to the still shuddering Grineer and pulling him into a one armed hug. “Let me know if you need help getting him back-”

Derf had turned sharply on his heels, still speaking as he began his departure. Yet he is immediately interrupted. Immediately halted. Immediately scrambling for words. A familiar face stood directly before him. Well, not exactly a face, but a familiar figure. The same Grineer that had spectated his arrival to the relay. A heavy gunner in full armor, sleek and black as the night. An eyeless helmet and a massive Gorgon; their weapon repainted and sloppily emblazoned with the Meridian’s symbol.

“Excuse me.” Their tone was surprisingly deep for the thin figure they carried. The gunner sets their weapon up against a nearby storage crate, approaching Clem as quietly as they had entered. Intrigued with the scene, Derf pauses to watch on, especially craning his neck as the midnight gunner reaches to remove their helmet. It’s only at the hiss of the air compression that Clem raises his head again, noting the approaching Grineer and finally cracking a smile. He croaks out a couple of intelligible words, possibly Meridian slang, and chuckles as the gunner sets their helmet aside. And Derf draws in a sharp inhale at who looks back at him.

Captain Vor. Presumed dead, or at least brainwashed by orokin robotics. He drops to a knee before the smaller Grineer, pressing a mostly robotic, armored hand to Clem’s face. An ashy gray bodysuit clings to his scalp and neck, but he can still feel the burning drills of Derf’s stare. Before he can address the situation, the resurrected loyalist glances back, quirking a brow. “What..? Thought you were the only defector here, Nightingale?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi this one has a lot of transitions sorry

“Vor… THE Captain Vor.”

Derf is still in disbelief. Alad V, he could handle. Vor? Hunter of the tenno? Favorite of the Queens? Was EVERYONE in the system secretly a defector? He paces the area behind the couch and between the kitchen island, Clem laying on said couch and watching him work through his mental dilemma. “Yes. Captain Vor.” The Grineer has finally regained his composure with speech, rolling his eyes as Derf let out a long held sigh. “Honestly, WHAT is the big deal? What was I not clear on?”

Anyo throws up his hands in exclamation. “Like the ENTIRE fucking thing! WHY is he here? Why is HE a defector?! Are the tenno AWARE of this?!” He tosses a wild motion towards the door, as if a warframe would be standing in it’s threshold. Clem groans and rubs his eyes. 

“If you’re so confused, why not just ASK him.”

“What? By the Void, no.”

It is now Clem’s turn to toss up his hands, this time in frustration. “Then what the fuck is the point!” Derf starts another round of pacing again. “Honestly, you act like we don’t have a potential OUTBREAK walking around as well! He won’t bite your face off for talking to him, Derf!” The man tugs his throw blanket further onto his lap, grumbling as he shifted his weight on the couch. “And for once, I’m NOT talking about the ghouls!”

“Alad’s different!”

“How? Because he’s Corpus?”

And he stops. Anyo is motionless as the line repeats itself in his head. “I…” Was that really the case? The man stops to wring his hands out with an anxious feeling. “I guess… I didn’t think of it like that.” He sighs, rounding the side of the couch and sitting on the end not occupied by Clem’s feet. “I’m… I’m sorry. I just… How did he GET here?” 

He gets a shrug in response. “I don’t have all the details on that one. He doesn’t… really like to talk about it. Even with me.” Derf shoots him a raised brow, and the Grineer lets out a sigh. “Okay, so…” He leans forwards a bit, adjusting the pillow propped up in the small of his back. “It’s kind of a long story, but basically… well…” He bites his lip. “You know how Tyl Regor does all the fucky genetics shit, yeah?”

“I guess.”

“So-” Clem holds out his hands, motioning while he speaks. “-he’s sort of got this thing implemented… Where Grineer with good merit can donate their gene sequences to him. And in return, he grows them troops based on those sequences.” He lets out a small laugh at the Corpus’s look of horror. “Hey! It’s not so bad, actually! Least we aren’t selectively BRED.”

Derf shrugs. “Point taken.”

The Grineer crosses his legs as he gets comfortable. “Anyways… It’s sort of a way to keep the empire cycling these good genes around. At least, that’s what the GOAL is.” He motions air quotes on the word goal. “So basically, every planet or commander has armies that end up having… certain traits. Even specific personalities. It’s why everyone fucking hates the Tusk.” Another raised brow. “Vay Hek.” Clem gives a pained smirk, but sighs. “Thing is, he started this stuff on himself, right. It’s why there’s a LOT more of us running around. I-” He motions to himself, but takes a second to pause. “-am one of them. From the earlier batches. I guess… I don’t know, I think they all call themselves Tubemen or Tubechildren now or… something.”

He waves off whatever thought was clogging his process. “Point is, the Queens liked Vor so much, they kept sending him back for samples. Like a LOT of samples. Rumor has it, the only commander that can possibly rival Regor on ‘kids’ is him.” More hand motions. Even with the spoken word, he can’t help but slightly sign his intentions. “So they… kinda came to like each other. Started as just business, but… with all the batches Tyl was sending him, he started to consider him a friend. And, uh.” He fidgets with his hands for a moment. “Well, Tubekids call him Uncle Vor. And he treats us like… we were his own imprint. Like HIS kids, you know?” The man fidgets with his fingers briefly. “S’ probably why he came running so quick. Wanted to see if we were alright.”

Derf leans back against the plush of the couch, folding his arms and crossing one knee over the other as he listens. “So he’s your uncle… Doesn’t explain how he got here.” He is silenced by the Grineer holding up a hand.

“You’re a fuckin’ impatient one, you know that…” The insult is spoken with a smirk and a chuckle, non threatening. Anyo returns the sentiment. “ANYWAYS. Yeah, um… The goal of the project was to cycle around good Grineer genes. What the Queens don’t know is, uh… Regor uses it as a way to cycle around the Defector gene, too. And yes, it’s a gene.” Now this got his interest. Derf turns, quirking a brow as he moves to speak. However, he stops himself, biting the inside of his lip instead to keep his mouth occupied.

Clem’s voice softens a bit, but gains a serious tone. “I don’t know when Tyl got the gene, or if he was just always that way. Point is, he’s been sneaking it through portions of his gene sequence into certain batches and individuals. Sort of a… quiet rebellion, you know?” Another shrug. “He can’t do it himself, so he gave us the equipment to do it ourselves.” And Clem holds his hands across the blanket on his lap. He’s in his off-duty get up. A plain shirt and jeans, calloused and scarred hands decorated with a few rings. 

“See, there’s a set of gene sequences in us Grineer. Lowers our inhibitions slightly, but, more importantly, it gets rid of our ability to question authority. Not… directly, but the combination of personality and behavioral traits result in defectors being a lot more assertive and unruly.” He speaks with a lilt Derf had never heard him use before. Like he was reciting this instead of engaging a conversation. “It’s why the Queens kill defectors. We’re harder to govern and even worse to send to our deaths.” Clem takes a moment, staring down as his fingers as he remains lost in thought. His left pinky twitches, a scar circling it on the first joint. An old almost-amputation with a fucky nerve. 

“At least, uh… That’s what Tyl told me.”

That explains the tone. “That’s… fucking wild.” Derf watches his hands as well for a moment, watches as he slowly curls his digits and retreats his arms back to the edge of the blanket. “I’m guessing he just sticks this gene wherever he can?” Clem nods, pauses, and then shrugs.

“Well… I have no fucking clue, honestly.” The Grineer shakes his head, rolling his shoulder in an attempt to rid it of its current ache. “I just know it got into Vor, who then passed it onto all his upcoming imprint batches. And now he’s a double agent for Cressa.” Derf’s head swings back around at this, previously staring off into the corners of the room.

“HUH?”

Clem shoots out a barking laugh. “Yeah, figured that’d get you.” Grin plastered on his face, he leans back again and relaxes once more. “He fakes his death every once in a while and stations himself as a Meridian heavy gunner if he’s needed for more hands on shit. Otherwise, he’s working with the Queens as a ‘replacement’ Vor after he got orokin’d.” The man casually picks a bit at his teeth, sharpened nails plucking the irritant out expertly. “He actually goes through Tyl to do it, too. Kinda kicks ass. He’ll grow a new Vor and terminate it when it’s close to popping, slip the old one in, and they pretend he’s just tubefresh.” Another chuckle and a grin. “And those dumb bitches BUY IT.” 

The hiss of the opening door cuts him off. Darvo enters the apartment with a sigh as he moves to remove his Meridian mask. “Alright, so the other guys ended up recovering pretty fast.” Clem deflates a bit, but turns to his Corpus lover. “So it doesn’t seem super serious. Derf, what’d you say that shit was again?”

Anyo perks up, attention diverted from the conversation suddenly. “Oh, uh…” He absentmindedly itches at his cheek. “Back during my schooling, Nef made me take a course on old Corpus culture. Like our Orokin roots, right?” He cranes his neck to watch Darvo pull off his coat in one swift motion, hanging it near the door and stretching his arms. “They taught me how the language USED to sound, which yes they have records of, and uh…” He pauses, looking over to Clem to find the man adopting an expression of worry. Right. The orokin. 

“Well… They say that we used to talk like them.”

The Grineer turns his gaze away, suddenly shrinking in on himself. But Derf scoots down the couch and leans over. Reaches out a hand and sets it over his knee through the throw blanket. “But you’re not gonna hear that shit again, alright? Not if I can help it.” He watches the man’s fingers twitch as he adjusts his grip on them. Clem gives a silent nod, and it's all he can do to make sure the Corpus is at ease. Behind them, the other Corpus nears, hand briefly running through Derf’s hair.

“Well, we can thank your friend for taking care of that, can’t we?”

And Derf jolts. “OH SHIT.” Slightly jostling Clem, the Nightingale leaps to his feet and bolts towards their shared room. “I FORGOT TO FUCKING PAY HER.” All he can further hear from the pair is Darvo’s cackle as he dives for his datapad. 

* * *

His stay at Orcus wasn’t meant to be long. A little under a week, uneventful as usual. Well, save for the few incidents at the start… 

Derf never ended up directing any questions towards his new found fellow double agent. Yet as he wheels his luggage back onto the docks of the relay, he spies Vor posted at the entrance. Eyeless helmet, replaced instead by a black visor. Meridian Gorgon. The Grineer spots him quickly and gives a slow, respectful nod. One that the Corpus is quick to return. 

He is thankfully several bags short this time, having emptied them of their smuggled goods for the Perrin and several relay contacts. Some Solaris, some Tenno. It is Glast who gets the brunt of his goods, however. And it is Glast that gives him his first private farewell for the day.

Yet it is Darvo who truly mourns his departure. The Corpus is quiet, solemn. A stark contrast to how he behaved when Derf first arrived. He helps his lover with a few bags, pulling them up the ramp and into the ship. And the Nightingale catches a glimpse of how he looks about the cabin. Mournful. Longing. “Do you really have to go..?”

Anyo perks up, raising an eyebrow. “Darv. Hon.” He gives a short sigh before turning to him. The rest of his crew were still shuffling about the ship, adjusting their belongings as well. Pulling his lover to the side and to a space of slightly more privacy, Derf sets his hands on the man’s shoulders. “You know I can’t stay forever. You KNOW I have work to do…” Darvo fails to meet his gaze, biting his lip. So he pulls him into a hug instead. A tender, if somber, moment. 

“You could if you wanted… We can find a way to make it work.” His voice sounds as if Derf had died, muttered into his ear like they were at a funeral. “Glast could always use more smugglers… Cressa could use another agent that knows Corpus.” He feels Darvo’s hands rub his upper back, and the Nightingale sighs. At this point, he is merely letting the other vent. “_ I could go with you. _” 

At this point, Derf stiffens. He grabs the other’s shoulders and pulls him back. “No.” The word is firm and strict on his tongue. “No, you-” He scoffs. “I can’t risk your safety like that, hon. You KNOW the bounty on your head! You think my uncle would just let you _ hang out? _ Like he wouldn’t get more fame and fortune by turning you over to Frohd?!” Derf is surprised to look up and find a deadpan stare on Darvo’s face. Not a look of someone being berated. Not a look of a somber lover. But a stone-cold frown. A hard stare that drills into him. It sends a flurry of chills down his spine that erupt when he answers.

“...Okay.”

The silence afterwards makes the Nightingale shuffle his feet awkwardly. “Um… Alright. Thank you… I guess.” He sighs, gaze falling to the man’s chest as he thinks to himself. “Well… I’ll call you guys when I get there, alright?” Flashes a smile up at him. That deadpan expression cracks only briefly to return the sentiment. Derf leans up for a farewell kiss. One that lands on cold, dry lips. There is a beat of hesitation before he returns it. Chests pressed together, he feels Bek’s heart RACING against his ribs. “Are you alright?” They broke apart, but he is still centimeters away from him.

“Yeah.”

He’s upset with him for leaving, as usual. Derf sighs and steps back, taking his hand to guide him back down the ship’s gangplank. He flashes a grin to Clem, who returns it easily but shoots a nervous gaze to the taller Corpus. Their embrace is better received. More comfortable. More malleable. And when Darvo comes closer, the Grineer CLAPS a hand on his wrist. Pulls him closer with an almost violent motion. “Don’t forget to call, babe.” And Derf smiles and nods.

“Of course!”

Pulling back, he gives Darvo one last look. And he is met with that same frown. That same cold stare. Sighing, Anyo retreats up the gangplank, surveying his ship briefly. “We ready?” Several of the Corpus agents give a mention of approval. The pilot nods, settling in and adjusting the safety belts on their seat. “Alright. Let’s pull up the anchor and get a move on!” He gives one last glance back as the door closes and hisses shut, the gangplank slowly retreating into the ship. Watches Darvo’s expression grow more and more intense as the anchor disengages and the ship pulls from the dock. And Derf gives a wave through the side window to Clem, noting that the Grineer’s grip only grew tighter and tighter on their shared lover.

It’s only when they are out of sight that he turns away. Only as they ease out of the slew of ships that they feel it. A shudder from the back of the ship. A weight that pulls them downwards before easing up. Derf stops on a dime, whipping around and glancing back as if he could assess the damage through the wall. “What the fuck did you hit?!”

“Nothing! There shouldn’t be anything there!” 

The Nightingale scowls, shooting through the narrow hallways of the ship’s depths to the back windows. He cranes his neck to look out of them, shading his eyes to reduce the glare from the lights overhead. “Then what WAS that?!” True to the pilot’s word, there was nothing. Not even a trace of remains on the hull as they pulled out. But his gaze sets on the dock. And he watches Clem hoisting himself on a group of crates, form tense and expression gnarled with what he thought to be anger. He is… shouting something. Something he can’t make out from his lips. Derf leans back, sighing. “See, even HE knows you fucking hit something!” And he retreats back to the cockpit…

* * *

The ride back to Neptune is uneventful. The ship remains plagued with a strange rattling noise throughout the cargo hold, but it’s otherwise calm. All Derf knows is his first task is to unpack and then report to his uncle.

Derf is accompanied by a small group of guards as he strides the hallways of the Corpus colony ship. For once, he sets aside his normally ascetic way of dress and opts for something more fanciful. Something that would placate his uncle to divert from the fact that he was a day late. 

Deep blue covers him. Head to toe in a luxurious gown embroidered with silver thread and jewelry. He wears a tall choker with the dress, one that covers the collar that he had no love for. Hair brushed back, he sets glimmering earrings of stabilized Cryotic. The outfit is finished off with a pair of blue suede heels that sets him further above the crewmen that stop to salute him.

Of course, he waves them off. Tells them to be at ease. He is only dressed up to please and distract his uncle, not to define himself as a noble. Still, the brief glances a few of them shot his get up. Looks of awe. Stares of almost attraction. Derf raises his hand to shield a blush as he approaches the door of his uncle’s meeting room. 

“Sorry for the wait, uncle!”

He is in an actual good mood when he enters the room. A rare occasion while around his family’s assets. Yet, he feels it quickly drain away. Feels his body freeze like the chill of his earrings. The guards do not follow him in. Instead, they shut the door behind him, and he hears it click with a lock.

And Nef stands behind a desk, hands bracing his form onto its surface. And he is looking up at Derf through his bangs, a scowl plastered to his face. He leans back, hands folded behind his back. Steps around the desk and sets a hand on the top of a nearby swivel chair. One that faces away from the door, but is clearly occupied. “Derf… How kind of you to join us.” Even his voice is filled with venom. Resentment. He gives the top of the chair a push, and it turns. Whips around to draw a gasp from Derf’s lips. 

Darvo lunges against his binds, wrists tied to the armrests of the chair and ankles tied together. In his mouth is a wadded up ball of fabric, anchored in place with another strip tying around the back of his head. And Derf’s hands clap to his mouth. He backs away, blood running cold as his back hits the locked door. And his uncle motions to the occupied chair.

“_ Care to explain? _”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i stayed up until 3 am with aching wrists writing this and ill probably do the same tonight

Derf feels his breath hitching in his throat. This is a nightmare. This has to be a nightmare. His hands lower, expression still filled with blatant horror as he holds one to his chest. His heart is racing. Darvo glares daggers at Nef, and his heart is RACING. “I-I-” Derf can’t even get it out. The Corpus so full of plans reduced to a stutter. He looks between the two. An expectant Anyo, arms folded, that could send the subject of his frustrations to their death without so much as a word. And Darvo… That bundle of now fury and hatred. Snarling under his gag and ripping at his binds. He did _ not _ plan for this.

“You, you- You WHAT!” His uncle was mocking him. He reaches over and grabs the tuft of hair on the back of Darvo’s head, yanking it down to pull his face upwards. “You can’t tell me how THIS got onto MY ship?! Onto MY land?! HUH?” And he lets him go, stomping over to his shuddering nephew. This motion draws a muffled wail from the prisoner, eyes aflame with rage. Yet Derf holds up his hands in surrender as his blood goes cold. Stares down his uncle with wide, terrified eyes.

And the man stops.

Anyo stops. Stares at his nephew. He sighs, backing away and pinching the bridge of his nose as he meanders back to his desk. “Derf… What the fuck are you planning… What the FUCK is this about.” Again, he motions to Darvo. “Just… tell me what you were aiming for so I can help. My dear, he nearly ESCAPED. If I hadn't searched the ship in time, he would’ve gotten away!” Derf’s hands fall back to his sides.

“You searched the ship?!”

“Of course I did!” Nef throws up his hands with exasperation, scoffing at the reply. “You think I’m going to let ships dock on MY land without a thorough look?! Nephew or not, no one is exempt to that rule, Derf!” He gestures wildly as he speaks, a hand raising to run through his hair once he finishes. Another sigh. “But seriously. Tell me what you need with him, and I’ll see it gets done.”

“I…” Derf finds himself frozen again. Heart thumping in the base of his throat. Gaze flickering between his uncle and his lover. He spares a moment to shoot a glare at him before clearing his throat. No. He MUST remain professional. He MUST remain in control. No matter what happened, he HAD to hold the cards here or Darvo’s life was in danger. “Uncle, I know who I wish to make my marriage contract with.”

The scene drops. A whine rings in his ears. Both Nef and Darvo stare at him dumbfounded. Anyo looks between him and Derf before sputtering out an answer. “Y-You… WHAT?!” His hands slam on his desk. Derf jumps, but keeps his head high. “You’re not saying what I THINK you’re saying?! You-!” He jabs a finger in Derf’s direction, but the younger Corpus remains steadfast. Head high. Back straight. Frown taut, and stare fixated. He oozes seriousness. Confidence. Nef, meanwhile, pulls his hands over his face and lets out a muffled yell.

“NO! NO, I WILL **NOT** ALLOW IT!”

“It is not up to you whether or not it is ALLOWED, uncle. This is my-”

Nef drops his hands again, hair tousled as he rips around the desk to approach him. “I SAID **NO!**” Derf would be lying if he said he didn’t flinch. “Do you know what you’re SAYING, DERF?! You want to marry this-! This-!” He turns to Darvo, who is still just as bound and gagged. “Bek BASTARD?!” And he whips back to his nephew, who remains standing straight and calm. 

“Uncle…” He raises his hands. They are lined with cloth as blue as his gown, gloves reaching his elbows as he steps towards his kin. “Uncle… Think about it…” His words are barely above a whisper, hands set on the cap of Nef’s shoulders. He can FEEL his uncle’s fury beneath their clothing. The way his skin SHIVERS with rage. “What have you been _ itching _ to get all these years.” And he feels his form slacken. His shoulders relax. His scowl fades into a dumbfounded frown. “ _ Think about it… _”

Nef pauses, turning a bit to look over the form of his prisoner. And slowly but surely, a grin starts curling on his cheeks. The younger Corpus glances between them, brows raised in complete shock. “Derf.” Anyo turns back to his nephew, the Nightingale starting to sport a devious smile of his own. And it’s his turn to grab his shoulders. “Derf! Derf, my dear! You are a GENIUS!” And he grabs him, tugging him into a tight hug that lifts him off the floor for a moment. “DERF! THAT’S MY BOY!” 

Meanwhile, the Nightingale’s smile fades once it’s out of his uncle’s sight. Peers over the man’s shoulder and shoots a glare of unmitigating FURY at Darvo. A look that makes the other shrink back into his seat. But once he’s set back on the ground, it returns. “I will admit, I may be doing it for-” He briefly looks at Darvo and feigns a stare of attraction. “-selfish reasons, but…” He turns back to his uncle. “There’s a bonus to it as well! The family gets the assets we so RIGHTFULLY deserve.” He eases his uncle back to the desk before meandering towards his imprisoned lover. “And I… get a husband I can actually stand looking at.” And he bends down a bit, sliding the tip of his finger along the underside of Darvo’s jaw. Up to his chin, where he holds it for a second.

Nef, thankfully, ignores the motions, clearing his throat before moving to sit. “That’s… Yes, that’s certainly a plus, Derf.” He sighs. “Good for you.” And reaches for the datapad once sitting neatly to the side. “But if you’re serious about this…” He looks up from his previous work and stares down his nephew. “I can get the paperwork done relatively quickly. I just…” Another sigh. Another pinch of the bridge of his nose. “You’re CERTAIN?”

“I’ve never been more sure in my life, uncle…”

Darvo jumps a bit as Derf’s teasing touch suddenly turns into a gloved hand around his throat. His breath grows heavy under his gag, and he shrinks a bit against him. Nef averts his gaze. “Okay! Great!” He brings his attention back to whatever paperwork he now jots down. “I’ll have the contract written up in a couple of days. You-!” He looks up in time to find his nephew inches away from what he knows as the most notorious Corpus criminal. Nef quickly looks back down. “If-If you want, I can have him sent to your quarters! Or… his own rooms, if you so-”

“I’ll take him from here, thank you.”

Nef nods. “Right! Okay! Have, uh-” Derf is already working on the man’s bindings, hand still at his throat. How he manages it one handed, Anyo makes a note to never ask. “Have fun, then… I’ll…” He clears his throat as Derf leans back and wrenches Darvo to his feet, letting go of his throat but opting to rebind his wrists. “I’ll just… I’ll let you know when they’re ready. We’re going to have to plan a LOT for this, my dear nephew… You know that right?”

And Derf smiles sweetly at him. “Of course! You only have one nephew to marry off, so I’m sure you want this to be perfect, right?” Nef gives a soft sigh and nods, but is cut off before he can reply. “I’m going to get him settled in and out of your hair, okay? I’ll talk to you tomorrow!” His uncle is all too eager to wave him off, nodding. And Derf grabs Darvo by the front of his shirt, yanking him towards the door. Briefly, he tosses him to the wall, letting him slam against it before leaning in to knock for the guards. His face is inches from his lover’s ear as he does so. “_ Play along and maybe I won’t yell at you later. _”

Darvo is yanked out of the room and into the colony ship hallways. The crew are quick to stand at attention, but falter when they spy the image of the criminal hitting the floor and sliding a bit. A few step back, startled and muttering to each other. Derf walks out next, motioning to the guards and folding his arms. “Get him up.” A pair nod and reach down to grab the Corpus by his arms, yanking him to his feet at Anyo’s request. “Now follow along.”

And he is tugged along, gagged and shackled as he’s pulled through the hallways. Bek is… speechless, even if he wasn’t literally incapable. His gaze darts from the rank and file of the crew to Derf’s noble stride. The authority he commands. The aura of confidence that seems to infect the others around him. That makes him shy in comparison. It is intoxicating to watch. Derf glances over his shoulder at the man, Cryotic earrings only drawing Bek’s gaze further in. And he spies a smirk before he turns back around…

* * *

Darvo hits the floor with a slide, tumbling and rolling over his own head before coming to a stop. The doors hiss closed behind him, and he groans at his newly sustained injuries. “You DUMB MOTHER FUCKER!” Derf stomps closer, kicking off his heels and peeling off an azure glove. And the older Corpus finds it slapping his arm and shoulder. He finds it whacking him in the back of the skull as he shrinks back, yelping under his gag. “You fucking IDIOT! You stupid PIECE OF SHIT! What the FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?!” 

Derf can still feel his heart beating in his throat as he stares at his lover now groveling on the floor. He gives another stomp and lets out a shout of frustration before crouching down. He unties his wrists first, and the man begins to rub at them to relieve the pain. Next the gag. “What the FUCK do you have to say for yourself!?”

“By the Void, you’re hot when you’re angry.”

Another yell. Derf throws the glove down at him, the cloth slapping over his eyes and laying there as he yelps. Anyo huffs and steps over him, retreating to his bedroom to change. “You are fucking INSUFFERABLE! How the FUCK did you get on the ship anyways!” He pulls out his earrings first, setting them on his modest vanity. Next his gloves and necklace. 

“I jumped.”

“You WHAT?!” He slams his hands on the surface before whipping around to glare out the open door. “Is THAT what that fucking bump was when we left?!” Darvo laughs as he pushes himself to his feet. “VOID, I HATE YOU!” He turns back to the mirror, fuming as he watches his lover brush the dirt from his shirt in the reflection. 

“Yeah, I know.” Derf closes his eyes as he nears, bracing himself against the vanity’s surface and trying to regulate his breathing. “Hey I offered to do this civilly, but YOU said no…”

Yep, there it goes.

Derf whips around. “BECAUSE YOU SHOULDN’T FUCKING **BE HERE.** ” He swings out his arms to motion to the colony ship as a whole. “Do you know what kind of DANGER you’re in?! What my uncle could DO TO YOU?!” Darvo shrugs, leaning on the threshold to his bedroom. “Don’t fucking give me _ that _, he could KILL YOU!” And he stomps up to him, wagging a finger in his face as he ridicules him.

But Darvo fails to answer. Instead he just stares at him. Just reaches up and takes the hand that jabs a digit in his face. Lowers it and weaves his finger in with Anyo’s. And with his other hand, he cups the man’s face. In a gown of azure, Derf is pulled into a tight embrace and held there. “I’m sick of you staying for a few days and leaving, hon. I don’t wanna live like that anymore.” Anyo scoffs and tries to pull away.

“That’s why you have Clem and Baro-!”

And he’s wrenched back, but still held at the upper arms. “I want that with YOU.” Derf slowly begins to shake his head. “I want that with you…” His voice dies to a whisper. The emotion in his tone draws a lump into Derf’s throat. A moisture to his eyes, and he shakes his head more earnestly now. Trying to push him back. Sniffles. “I don’t want you to leave again. Even if it means Nef wants to kill me…”

“S-Stupid…” The Nightingale draws in a gasp, but his overflow of emotion releases it accidentally in the form of a sob. One he wanted to lock up tight in his ribcage, but it flutters out at the last second. “I d-” He hiccups a breath in. “I don’t want you to die!” And he lunges in for a hug. “I don’t want him to take you away from me! You don’t know what he’s capable of-!”

Darvo lets out a laugh. One that shakes his chest, and by extension Derf. “Yeah he can try.” His arms are around him, a hand stroking his mottled brown hair. Anyo pulls back a bit to look up at him in confusion. “Hon, I know what he’s capable of.” His expression grows more serious, staring ahead at the mirror on his vanity. “I lived that once… I can do it again.” For a beat, there is silence.

“I would rather you not have to…” Derf finally pulls back, sighing as he wipes his impulsive tears onto his arm. “I still need to change out of this. Hold on.” And he pulls himself from the embrace. It is an easy break this time. His lover is willing to let him go. He is still sniffling as he moves, but the Nightingale manages to regulate his breathing. Manages to let out the remainder of his emotions with a long sigh. Derf moves back to his bed, shuffling through the clothes he’d previously laid out for himself, before reaching back for his dress’s zipper. And Darvo pushes himself off the wall he leans in, striding towards the vanity and looking over the discarded jewelry.

“Thought you weren’t into gaudy stuff?”

Anyo pulls the gown down in the front, stepping out of it and laying it over his pillow as he reaches for his pants. “Gifts from Nef, and… other Corpus nobility.” He tugs them on one leg at a time and clasps them in the front. “Would be an insult to not accept them, so I just kinda pack them away.” Next his shirt. It slips over the charcoal binder he wears, settling as a turtleneck of the same color. He watches Darvo pluck up one of his Cryotic earrings, his brows knitting. “Those are Ki’teer brand. They thought I wouldn’t notice, but I did.”

The criminal smirks, chuckling to himself as he holds the jewelry up to his own ear in the mirror. “Oh yeah, that’s a Baro look.” It didn’t exactly fit HIM. The blue matches the dark bags under his eyes. The veins in his cheeks. “Pretty…” A toothy grin with a few crooked pieces. He sets it down and rifles through Derf’s collection.

“Oh yeah, you’re welcome to just help yourself!” Derf motions a hand, scoffing. He leans down, grabbing his blue gown and zipping it back up. “Go right ahead!” Darvo, failing to notice his sarcasm, begins to pluck open a few boxes. Anyo sighs and drapes the cloth over his arm, striding from around the bed and out into the hallway. He pulls open the small closet just to the side of his bedroom door, tugging out a hanger and setting the dress onto it. “You smuggle yourself into my uncles fucking ship and the first thing you do is steal my jewelry. What a gentleman.” He hangs up the garment, shutting the door and turning back into his bedroom.

In the span of the seconds it took to find a good spot for his gown, Darvo had pulled on several necklaces, five bracelets, and set a total of three pairs of earrings into his swiss cheese ears. “Mmm, yeah. You think Nef would like this coming down an aisle?” Derf scoffs as he approaches, yanking the soon to be seventh necklace from Darvo’s grubby hands. “Hey! I’m just looking!” 

“You don’t know the kind of people that gave me this shit. Don’t want you getting their germs.”

Darvo coos in response. “Aw… Such a loving fiance!” He bats his eyelashes, running his fingers over the layers of golden chains and jewels. “Wooing his blushing bride with such fine words! Oh, what would your uncle think!” Derf turns to him after setting the piece away, holding out a hand. “... What.” The man only pushes it closer, eyes widening. Darvo tisks, and scowls, moving to undo the lobster clasps behind his neck. “You’re no fucking fun.”

“You keep joking, but this wedding ain’t gonna be fun… You know that right.” The first two necklaces hit his palm and he moves to reclasp them and return them to their respective boxes. “Nef’s going to be breathing down our necks the ENTIRE time. And YOU-” He jabs a finger at Darvo, who jumps and drops a chain and pendant. “-are going to have to behave!” His lover dips down to pick up the jewelry, handing it over as he takes out a couple earrings. “Don’t roll your eyes, I mean it! This is going to be a big fucking deal, Darv!”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve been to a fucking wedding, hon.”

“Not like this!” Derf moves to help unclasp the bracelets as he watches Darvo struggle. And briefly, he holds his wrist with both hands, motioning to look up at him. “I’m… I don’t mean this in a selfish way, but I’m an ANYO.” He shakes the man’s arm for emphasis. “Nef is unmarried! I’m the ONLY heir to his assets, Darv! Whatever family I marry into is getting a PORTION of that!” He stayed staring at him for a moment before sighing and undoing a pair of bracelets. “I… Nevermind.”

“No.” Darvo’s other hand lays over his. “Keep going.”

The Nightingale sighs, pulling back to let his lover work on the jewelry himself. “This isn’t just for the two of us, Darv. Nef is going to use this to show where his loyalty and power lays.” He takes what is offered and now half heartedly puts it back. “This is going to be the wedding of the CENTURY. Everyone who’s ANYONE is going to be there. By the Void, your FATHER might be there!” Darvo looks up at him with a quirked brow.

“Alad?”

“Well him too, but your FATHER father!”

And the two share a chilling stare. Darvo’s eyes widen a bit and his expression hardens. “Frohd.” Derf nods. “Frohd Bek is going to be there…” The criminal takes in a deep breath and leans forwards, bracing himself on the surface of the vanity. He is tense. He is quiet. Not a good combination for the Corpus. “Do… Do I have to..?” He doesn’t finish his question. Doesn’t have to.

“Darv, we’ll have to talk to him LONG before the wedding. This is going to legal bind our families and their assets, and I know for a FACT that Nef wants what Frohd has.” He sets a hand on the man’s shoulder and rubs it. “He’s going to make you try to get back into Frohd’s will whether you like it or not.” 

Before Derf can react, his lover emits a shout of profanity. Twists his form and LAUNCHES a defenseless box of earrings at the wall on pure instinct. Yet immediately, he draws a gasp through his teeth and lunges to grab it from the floor. “Fuck! I’m-” He draws in a shuddering breath. “I’m s-sorry…” He shivers as he sets it back on the vanity. All the while, Derf remained motionless. He’d seen worse outbursts from his uncle, and even messier aftermaths. “I-... I just... “ 

And he breaks out a laugh. “Derf, the ONLY THING I associate him with at this point is physical HARM!” And he turns to him, one ear riddling with earrings and the other bare. A comical sight if the topic weren’t so heavy. Darvo grins as he chuckles to himself, turning away and running his hands over his face. “Last time I SPOKE to him, no INTERACTED with him… He tried to have me KILLED!” He is a few steps away when he turns, arms out to motion to himself. “Like that old crusty FUCK wants me to go grovel to him? To beg him? He KNOWS that cunt wants me DEAD right?” Derf merely leans against the vanity and folds his arms.

“Darvo, Frohd is dying.”

The room goes silent. Darvo’s face falls, and his hands drop back to his side. “You’re… You’re serious?” Derf nods and watches his lover’s expression cycle through a range of emotion. First, the twitch of a smile that covers his face. Then a slow transformation to a scowl as he strides to the wall and leans up against it. Wraps his arms around himself and chuckles. “He’s… dying.” A scoff. “Wow. Never thought I’d get to hear that.” He is silent for a moment, throat twitching as he swallows the lumps in it several times over. “He’s… gonna die… and I’m NEVER going to figure out what the FUCK I did wrong, huh?”

He looks up at Derf. And as they lock gazes, the tears well. Darvo grins and turns away, laughing as they begin streaming down his face. And he LAUGHS. Derf pushes himself to his feet and slowly approaches him, the laughter gently transforming into sobs as Darvo covers his face with his hands. “That mother fucker could be DEAD and still FUCK WITH ME from beyond the grave!” His shoulders shaking, Derf is careful to pull him into an embrace. His lover wastes no time in wrapping his arms around the man’s neck, tugging him close. “He’ll be on fucking LIFE SUPPORT and still berate me, won’t he!” **Won’t he!**” 

Derf sighs, holding his lover close as he shivers. Setting his chin on top of Darvo’s shoulder, he leans his head against the other’s, staring at the bumps in his wall under the paint. “If it makes you feel any better… I’ll be with you at a witness when he does.” He rubs the small of his back slowly. “I’ll make him sign off his assets even if I have to shove a pen in his cold dead _ fucking _ hand.” His voice is a whisper, but deadly. Venomous. 

Darvo’s grip on him tightens. His weeping begins to calm, far more hysterical than Derf’s previous bout of tears. Even with hiccups in his voice, he tries to reply. “Just s-... so long as I’m n-not alone!” Another chuckle. He feels Bek bury his face in his shoulder. “Just don’t leave me alone with him…” A sentence that reaches into Derf’s ribs and crushes his heart. “_ Please. _”


End file.
